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LOVELL’S:LIBRAllY;i^CAT:ALOGUE?« 




; 

1. lierioB, by H. W, Longfellow. .20 

3. Outre-Mer, by H. W. Longfellow. 20 

3. The Happy Boy, by BjOrnson. . . . IQ 

4. Arne, by BjOroBon .;, 10 

6. Frankenstein, by Mrs. Shelley... 10 
6. The Last of the Mohicans 20 

it. Clytie, by Joseph Hatton.. .•,..20 

8. The Moonstone, by Collins, P't 1. 10 

9. The Mot'nstone. by Collins, P't II. 10 

10. Oliver Twi.<>t, by Charles Dickens, 20. 

11. The Coming Bace, by Lytton.,..10 

12. iHjiln, by Lord Lytton i ... 10 

13. The Three Spaniards, by Walker. 20 
• 14. ThcTrickspr the Greek8Unveiled.20 

15. L’Abhe Constantin, by Hal6vy..2'}' 

16. Frecklfis, by R. F. RedcHff.. ,.20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by Harriett Jay.20 

18. They Were Married!' by Walter 

Besant and .lames Rico 10 

19. Sfvkor.s after God, by Farrar 20 

20. The Spanish Nnn. by DrfJuinccy.lO 

21. The Green Monntain Boys 20 

£2. Flenrette, by Eugene Scribe. ... .?0 

23. Second Tboiiirhts, by Broughton £0 

24. The New Magdalen, by Collins.. 20 
2’). Divorce, by >largnret f ee...... .20 

26. Life of W’nshingion, by Henley. .20 

27. Social Ft'quetie, bv Mrs. Saville.15 

28. Single Ikart and Double Face, .10 

29. Irene, by Carl Dctlet 2J 

3k A ice Ver«H, by F. Anstoy 20 

3 1 . Ernest M al tra v' rs, by Lord Lyt ton20 

32. The Haunted House and Calderon 

the Courtier, by Lord Lvtfon..l0 

33. job'! Halifax, Dv Miss Mu)ock...20 

S4. Hot) Lco'rnoson the Amazon 10 

3.5. 0 he Cryptogram, by jules Verne. 10 

30. 1 ife of'Maru'n. by Horry 20 

37. PanI and Virginia 10 

.38. Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens. .2 ) 

39. The Hermits, by Kingdcy 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule and Mar- 

riage of Moira Fergus, black .10 

41. A l^iarringein I igh Life 20 

43. Robin, by Mrs. Purr 20 

43. TwoonaTower, by Th os. Hardy. 20 

44. Rasselas,. by Samuel Johneor.... 10 
43. Alice; or, the Mysteries,- being 

Part 11. of Frnest Maltravi rs..20 

46. D ike of Kandos, by A. Matbey... 20 

47. Baron Munchausen 10 

48. A Princese of 'I'hnie, by Black.. 20 

49. The Secret Despatch, by Grant, 20 

60. Early Davs of Christianity, by 

, Canon Farrar, D D , Part I. . . .20 
Early Days of Christianitv.Pt. IT:£0 
Bl. Vicar of Wakefield, by GoldPir'th.lO 
62. Progress nnd Pov'.irty, by lienry 

George 20 

B3. The S; y, by j^ooper. £0 

54. Ea-'t Lynne, by Mrs V'ood...20 

6.5. A Strange Story, by Lord Lytlon...20 

56. Adam Bvde, by EHbt, Parti 1.5 

Adam Bede, Part II 1.5 

A5; The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon.,.. 20 

58. Portia, by The Duchess 20 

69. Last Dava of Pompeii, by Lytton. ;C0 

60. The Two Duchesses, by Matbey. .20 

61. Tom Brown’s School 'Days 20 


62. The Wooing O’Cby Mrs. Alex-'^' 

' ■ V ander, Part I I 1 15 

J The Wooing O't, Partll k;15 

63/ The Vendetta, by Balzac .20 

"64. JIy;patia,by Chas, Kingpley,P’tI. 16 
ITypatin, by Kingsley, Part II.. . .16 

05. Selma, by Mrs. J. C4. Stalth 15 

65. Margaret and her Bridesmaids. .20 . 
67 .Hor.ee Shoe Robinson, Part I. ... 16 , 
Horse ^oe Robinson, Part II. ...15 
68. Gnlliver’s Travels, by Swift, ..,".20 

60. Amos Barton; by George Eliot.., 10 

70. The Berber, by W. E. Mayo 20 

71. Silas Mamer. by George Eliot. . .10 

■ 72. The Queen of The County,, 20 

73 Life of Cromwell, by Hood... 15 

74. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. 20 

75. Child's History cf England 20 

76. Molly Bawn, by The Duchess. . .20 

77. I'iilone, by William. BergsOe 15 

78. Phyllis, by The Dnehess 20 

79. Romola, by G^o. Eliot, Part I. . .15 
Romola, by Geo. Eliot. Part II. .15 

80. Science in Short Chapters 20 

61. Zanoni.by Lord Lytton 20 

82. A Daugl.ter of Heth 20 

63.' The Right and W’rong ITscs of 

the Bibhe, R. Heber Newton... 20 

84. N'ght an(J; Morning. Pt. 1 16 

Night and Morning. Part IT 16 

8.5. Shandon Bells, by^'m. Black.. 20 

88. Monica, by the Dychess 10 

87. Heart and Science. l;y Collins... 20 

88. The Golden Calf, by Braddon.>.20 

89. The Dean’s Daughter 20 

90. Mrs. Geoffrey, by The Duchess. .20 

91. Pickwick Papers, Part I.., 20 

Pickwick Papers, Part II 20 

93. Airy, Fairy Lilian, The Duchess. 20 
93. Mckeod of Dare, by Wm. Elnck.20 

04. Tempest Tossed, by Tilton P 1 1 20 
Tempest Tos-cd.hy Tilton. P tII20 

05. Letters from High Latitudes, by 

Lord Dufferin.I 20 

06. Gideon Fle,ce, by Lpey 20 

97. India and Ceylon, by E. llseckel. ,20 

98. The Gvpay Queen .20 

09. The Admiral’s 'Ward 20 

100. N import, by E L Bvnner, P'tI..15 
Nimimrt.byE. L Bynner, P t 11.15 

101. Harry Holbrooke . 20 

102. Tritons, by E L Bynner. P't I.' .'. 1.5 
Tritons, by E. L. Bynner. P tII..15 

103. Let Nothing You Dismay, by 

W’alter Be.-ant 10 

104. Lady Audley’s Secret, by Miss 

M . E. Braddon '. 20 

105. W' Oman’s Place To-day, by Mrs. 

Lillie Devereux Blake .........20 

106. Dunallan, by Kennedy, PartT. . .15 
Dunallan, by Kennedy, Part II. .15 

107. Honsc’Keeping and Ilome-ma;.-'' 

iug. by Marion Harland 

108. No New Thing, by WL E. Norris. 20 

109. The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

li?’ Hopes, by Goldwin Smith. 15 

111. Labor and Capital 20 

112. Wanda, by Ouida, P.i’rt J. . . ... 15 

Wanda, by Ouida, Partll 16 



All women know that it is beauty, rather than genius, Vv'hich all generations 
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Over two million ladies have used this delightful toilet preparation, and in 
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Price, 75c. per Bottle. Bepot, 83 Jolm St., N. Y. 


FAIR FACES, 

And fair, in the literal and most pleasing sense, are 
those kept fresh and puke by the use of 

BUCK CARBOLIC TOILET SOAP 

This article, which for the past fifteen years haa 
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CuRANS and preserves the teeth; cools and refreshes the mouth; sweetens the 
breath, and is in every way an unrivalled dental preparation. 

BUrHAlV’S CAflKOLIC KII'IDICINAL SOAP cares all 
Eruptions and Skin Diseases. 



i 


JUST PUBLISHED. 


“beyond the SUNRISE:” 

Observations by Two Travelers. 

1 Yol. 12mo, cloth, gilt, - - - - - - $1.00 

1 Yol. 12mo, paper, .50 

Also in LoYell’s Library, No. 169, - - - - .20 


The subjects treated in this Yolume, which is the pro- 
duction of two well known American writers, are Psychology, 
Clairvoyance and Theosophy. In the form of sketches they 
outline the philosophy of Psychology, and relate phenomena 
wholly outside of, and apart from Spiritualism, with which it 
is associated in the popular mind in this country. These two 
writers have much to say regarding Occultism and Theosophy; 
and, in a word, discuss the science of the soul in all its bear- 
ings. No more interesting hook has ever appeared on these 
subjects. Much personal experience, which is always interest- 
ing, is given in its pages; and the authors who have chosen 
to bo anonymous, have had remarkable results in their study 
of Spiritualism and Clairvoyancy, and are adepts iS Psycho- 
logical researches. 

From all the varied avenues in which they have worked 
so perseveringly, they have brought together a highly grati- 
fying mass of material. The volume is one in which agnostics, 
^spiritualists, orthodox and scientific minds generally, will be 
• deeply interested ; and it is written in so earnest and frank a' 
'spirit, and in language so clear and graceful, that Beyond 
the Sunrise,” will win a welcome in every household. It will 
give good cheer and inspiration wherever it is read. 

Sent free, by post, on receipt of price. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

Jd and 16 Vesey Street, New STtrrkm 


THE MEMOIRS OF 


Mk. chas. j. yellowplush 


BY 




WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 


NEW YORK: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 
14 AND 16 Vesey Street. 



THE MEMOIRS 


OF 

MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH, 

SOMETIME FOOTMAN IN MANY GENTEEL FAMILIES. 


MISS SffUM’S HUSBAND, 


Chapter I. 

I WAS born in the year one, of the present or Christian hera, 
and am, in consquints, seven-and-thirty years old. My mamma 
called me Charles James Harrington Fitzroy Yellowplush, in 
compliment to several noble families, and to a sellybrated 
coachmin whom she knew, who wore a yellow livry, and drove 
the Lord Mayor of London. 

Why she gev me this genlmn’s name is a diffiklty, or rayther 
the name of a part of his dress ; however, it’s stuck to me 
through life, in which I was, as it were, a footman by buth. 

Praps he was my father — though on this subjict I can’t 
speak suttinly, for my ma wrapped up my buth in a mistry. I 
maybe illygitmit, I may have been changed at nuss; but I’ve 
always had genlmnly tastes through life, and have no doubt 
that I come of a genlmnly origum. 

The less I say about my parint the better, for the dear old 
creatur was very good to me, and, I fear, had very little other 
goodness in her. Why,' I can’t say ; but I always passed as 
her nevyou. We led a strange life ; sometimes ma was dressed 
in sattn and rooge, and sometimes in rags and dutt j sometimes 


4 o 8 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

I got kisses, and sometimes kix ; sometimes gin, and some- 
times shampang ; law bless us ! how she used to swear at me, 
and cuddle me ; there we were, quarrelling and making up, 
sober and tipsy, starving and guttling by turns, just as ma got 
money or spent it. But let me draw a vail over the seen, and 
speak of her no more — its ’sfishant for the public to know that 
her name was Miss Montmorency, and we lived in the New Cut. 

My poor mother died one morning, Hev'*n bless her ! and I 
was left alone in this wide wicked wuld, without so much money 
as would buy me a penny roal for my brexfast. But there was 
some amongst our naybors (and let me tell you there’s more 
kindness among them poor disrepettable creaturs than in half- 
a-dozen lords or barrynets) who took pity upon poor Sal’s 
orfin (for they bust out laffin w'hen I called her Miss Mont- 
morency), and gev me bred and shelter. I’m afraid, in spite 
of their kindness, that my 77iorrils wouldn’t have improved if I’d 
stayed long among ’em. But a benny-violent genlmn saw me, 
and put me to school. The academy which I went to was 
called the Free School of Saint Bartholomew’s the Less — the 
young genlmn wore green baize coats, yellow leather whatsis- 
names, a tin plate on the left arm, and a cap about the size of 
a muffing. I stayed there sicks years ; from sicks, that is to 
say, till my twelth year, during three years of witch I distin- 
guished myself not a little in the musicle way, for I bloo the 
bellus of the church horgin, and very fine tunes we played too. 

Well, it’s not worth recounting my jewvenile follies (what 
trix we used to play the apple-woman ! and how we put snuff in 
the old dark’s Prayer-book — my eye !) ; but one day, a genlmn 
entered the schoolroom — it was on the very day when I went to 
subtraxion — and asked the master fora young lad for a servant. 
They pitched upon me glad enough ; and next day found me 
sleeping in the sculry, close under the sink, at Mr. Bago’s 
country-house at Pentonwille. 

Bago kep a shop in Smithfield market, and drov a taring 
good trade in the hoil and Italian way. I’ve heard him say, 
that he cleared no less than fifty pounds every year by letting 
his front room at hanging time. His winders looked right opsit 
Newgit, and many and many dozen chaps has he seen hanging 
there. Laws was laws in the year ten, and they screwed chaps’ 
nex for nex to nothink. But my bisniss was at his country- 
house, where I made my first ontray into fashnabl life. I was 
knife, errint, and stable-boy then, and an’t ashamed to own it ; 
for my merrits have raised me to what I am — two livries, forty 
pound a year, malt-licker, washin, silk-stocking, and wax candles 


MISS S HUM'S HUSBAND. 


409 

—not countin wails, which is somethink pretty considerable at 
our house, I can tell you. 

I didn’t stay long here, for a suckmstance happened which 
got me a very different situation. A handsome young genlmn, 
who kep a tilbry and a ridin boss at livry, wanted a tiger. I 
bid at once for the place ; and, being a neat tidy-looking lad, 
he took me. Bago gave me a character, and he my first livry ; 
proud enough I was of it, as you may fancy. 

My new master had ,some business in the City, for he went 
in every morning at ten, got out of his tilbry at the Citty Road, 
and had it waiting for him at six ; when, if it was summer, he 
spanked round into the Park, and drove one of the neatest 
turnouts there. Wery proud I was in a gold-laced hat, a drab 
coat and a red weskit, to sit by his side, when he drove. I 
already began to ogle the gals in the carriages, and to feel that 
longing for fashionabl life which I’ve had ever since. When 
he was at the oppera, or the play, down I went to skittles, or 
to White Condick Gardens ; and Mr. Frederic Altamont’s 
young man was somebody, I warrant : to be sure there is very 
few man-servants at Pentonwille, the poppylation being mostly 
gals of all work ; and so, though only fourteen, I was as much 
a man down there, as if I had been as old as Jerusalem. 

But the most singular thing was, that my master, who was 
such a gay chap, should live in such a hole. He had only a 
ground floor on John Street — a parlor and a bedroom. I slep 
over the way, and only came in with his boots and brexfast of 
a morning. 

The house he lodged in belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Shum. 
They were a poor but proliffic couple, who had rented the place 
for many years ; and they and their family were squeezed in it 
pretty tight, I can tell you. 

Shum said he had been a hofficer, and so he had. He had 
been a sub-deputy assistant .vice-commissary, or some such 
think ; and, as I heerd afterwards, had been obliged to leave 
on account of his nervousness. He was such a coward, the fact 
is, that he was considered dangerous to the harmy, and sent 
home. 

He had married a widow Buckmaster, who had been a Miss 
Slamcoe. She was a Bristol gal ; and her father being a bank- 
rup in the tallow-chandlering way, left, in course, a pretty little 
sum of money. A thousand pounds was settled on her ; and 
she was as high and mighty as if it had been a millium. 

Buckmaster died, leaving nothink ; nothink except four ugly 
daughters by Miss Slamcoe : and her forty pound a year was 


410 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 

rayther a narrow income for one of her appytite and preten- 
sions. In an unlucky hour for Shum she met him. He was a 
widower with a little daughter of three years old, a little house 
at Pentonwille, and a little income about as big as her own. I 
believe she bullyd the poor creature into marridgej and it 
was agreed that he should let his ground floor at John Street, 
and so add somethink to their means. 

They married ; and the widow Buckmaster was the gray 
mare, I can tell you. She was always talking and blustering 
about her famly, the celebrity of the Buckmasters, and the 
antickety of the Slamcoes. They had a six-roomed house (not 
counting kitching and sculry), and now twelve daughters in all ; 
whizz. — 4 Miss Buckmasters: Miss Betsy, Miss Dosy, Miss 
Biddy, and Miss Winny : i Miss Shum, Mary by name, Shum’s 
daughter, and seven others, who shall be nameless. Mrs. 
Shum was a fat, red-haired woman, at least a foot taller than 
S. ; who was but a yard and a half high, pale-faced, red-nosed, 
knock-kneed, bald-headed, his nose and shirt-frill all brown 
with snuff. 

Before the house was a little garden, where the washin of 
the famly was all ways hanging. There was so many of ’em 
that it was obliged to be done by relays. There was six rails 
and a stocking on each, and four small goosbry bushes, always 
covered with some bit of linning or other. The hall was a 
regular puddle : wet dabs of dishclouts flapped in your face ; 
soapy smoking bits of flanning went nigh to choke you ; and 
while you were looking up to prevent hanging yourself with the 
ropes which were strung across and about, slap came the hedge 
of a pail against your shins, till one was like to be drove mad 
with hagony. The great slattnly doddling girls was always on 
the stairs, poking about with nasty flower-pots, a-cooking some- 
thing, or sprawling in the window-seats with greasy curl-papers, 
reading greasy novls. An infernal pianna was jingling from 
morning till night — two eldest Miss Buckmasters, “ Battle of 
Prag”— six youngest Miss Shums, “ In my Cottage,” till I knew 
every note in the “ Battle of Prag,” and cussed the day when 
“ In my Cottage ” was rote. The younger girls, too, were 
always bouncing and thumping about the house, with torn 
pinn^ffores, and dogs-eard grammars, and large pieces of bread 
and treacle. ' I never see such a house. 

As for Mrs. Shum, she was such a fine lady, that she did 
nothink but lay on the drawing-room sophy, read novels, drink, 
scold, scream, and go into hystarrix. Little Shum kep reading 
an old newspaper from weeks’ end to weeks’ end, when he was 


M/SS SHUM'S HUSBAND. 


411 

not engaged in teaching the children, or goin for the beer, 
or cleanin the shoes : for they kep no servant. This house in 
John Street was in short a regular Pandymony. 

What could have brought Mr. Frederic Altainont to dwell 
in such a place ? The reason is hobvius : he adoared the fust 
Miss Shum. 

And suttnly he did not show a bad taste ; for though the 
other daughters were as ugly as their hideous ma, Mary Shum 
was a pretty little pink, modest creatur, with glossy black hair 
and tender blue eyes, and a neck as white as plaster of Parish. 
She wore a dismal old black gownd, which had grown too short 
for her, and too tight ; but it only served to show her pretty 
angles and feet, and bewchus figger. Master, though he had 
looked rather low for the gal of his art, had certainly looked in 
the right place. Never was one more pretty or more hamiable. 
I gav her always the buttered toast left from our brexfast, and 
a cup of tea or chocklate, as Altamont might fancy : and the 
poor thing was glad enough of it, I can vouch ; for they had 
precious short commons up stairs, and she the least of all. 

For it seemed as if which of the Shum famly should try to 
snub the poor thing most. There was the four Buckmaster 
girls always at her. It was, Mary, git the coal-skittle ; Mary, 
run down to the public-house for the beer ; Mary, I intend to 
wear your clean stockens out walking, 6r your new bonnet to 
church. Only her poor father was kind to her ; and he, poor 
old muff ! his kindness was of no use. Mary bore all the 
scolding like a h angel, as she was : no, not if she had a pair of 
wings and a goold trumpet, could she have been a greater 
hangel. 

I never shall forgit one seen that took place. It was when 
Master was in the City ; and so, having nothink earthly to do, 
I happened to be listening on the stairs. The old scolding was 
a-going on, and the old tune of that hojus Battle of Prag.” 
Old Shum made some remark ; and Miss Buckmaster cried out, 
“ Law, pa ! what a fool you are ! ” All the gals began laffin, and 
so did Mrs. Shum ; all, that is, excep Mary, who turned as red 
as flams, and going up to Miss Betsy Buckmaster, give her two 
such wax on her great red ears as made them tingle again. 

Old Mrs. Shum screamed, and ran at her like a Bengal 
tiger. Pier great arms vent veeling about like a vinmill, as she 
cuffed and thumped poor Mary for taking her pa’s part. Mary 
Shum, who was always a-crying before, didn’t shed a tear now, 
“ I will do it again,” she said, “ if Betsy insults my father,” 
New thumps, new shreex ; and the old horridan went on beatin 


412 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH, 


the poor girl till she was quite exosted, and fell down on the 
sophy, puffin like a poppus. 

“ For shame, Mary,” began old Shum ; “ for shame, you 
naughty gal, you ! for hurting the feelings of your dear mamma, 
and beating your kind sister.” 

“ Why, it was because she called you a ’’ 

“ If she did, you pert miss,” said Shum, looking mighty 
dignitified, “ I could correct her, and not you.” 

“ You correct me, indeed ! ” said Miss Betsy, turning up her 
nose, if possible, higher than before ; “ I should like to see you 
erect me ! Imperence ! ” and they all began laffin again. 

By this time Mrs. S. had recovered from the effex of her 
exsize, and she began to pour in her wolly. Fust she called 
Mary names, then Shum. 

“ Oh, why,” screeched she, “ why did I ever leave a genteel 
famly, where I ad every ellygance and lucksry, to marry a 
creatur like this? He is unfit to be called a man, he is 
unworthy to marry a gentlewoman ; and as for that hussy, 
I disown her. Thank heaven she an’t a Slamcoe ; she is only 
fit to be a Shum !” 

“ That’s true, mamma,” said all the gals ; for their mother 
had taught them this pretty piece of manners, and they despised 
their father heartily : indeed, I have always remarked that, in 
famlies where the wife is internally talking about the merits of 
her branch, the husband is invariably a spooney. 

Well, when she was exosted again, down she fell on the 
sofy, at her old trix — more screeching — more convulshuns : and 
she wouldn’t stop, this time, till Shum had got her half a pint 
of her old remedy, from the “ Blue Lion ” over the way. She 
grew more easy as she finished the gin ; but Mary w^as sent out 
of the room, and told not to come back agin all day. 

“ Miss Mary,” says I, — for my heart yurned to the poor gal, 
as she came sobbing and miserable down stairs : “ Miss Mary,” 
says I, “ if I might make so bold, here’s master’s room empty, 
and I know where the cold bif and pickles is.” “ Oh, Charles ! ” 
said she, nodding her head sadly, “ I’m too retched to have 
any happytite.” And she flung herself on a chair, and began to 
cry fit to bust. 

At this moment, who should come in but my master. I had 
taken hold of Miss Marj^’s hand, somehow, and do believe 1 
should have kist it, when, as I said, Haltamont made his ap- 
pearance. “ What’s this ? ” cries he, lookin at me as black as 
thunder, or as Mr. Philips as Hickit, in the new tragedy of 
Mac Buff. 


MISS SHUM^S HUSBAND. 


4r3 

“ It’s only Miss Mary, sir,” answered I. 

^ “ Get out, sir,” says he, as fierce as posbil ; and I felt some- 
think (I think it was the tip of his to) touching me behind, and 
found myself, nex minit, sprawling among the wet flan nings and 
buckets and things. 

The people from up stairs came to see what was the matter, 
as I was cussin and crying out. “ It’s only Charles, ma,” 
screamed out Miss Betsy. 

“Where’s Mary ? ” says Mrs. Shum, from the sofy. 

“ She’s in master’s room, miss,” said I. 

“She’s in the lodger’s room, ma,” cries Miss Shum, hecko- 
ing me. 

“ Very good ; tell her to stay there till he comes back.” 
And then Miss Shum went bouncing up the stairs again, little 
knowing of Haltamont’s return. 

* * * * * ^ 

I’d long before observed that my master had an anchoring 
after Mary Shum ; indeed, as I have said, it was purely for her 
sake that he took and kep his lodgings at Pentonwille. Excep 
for the sake of love, which is above being mersnary, fourteen 
shillings a wick was a too strong for two such rat-holes as 
he lived in. I do blieve the famly had nothing else but their 
lodger to live on : they brekfisted off his tea leaves, they cut 
away pounds and pounds of meat from his jints (he always 
dined at home), and his baker’s bill was at least enough for six. 
But that wasn’t my business. I saw him grin, sometimes, when 
I laid down the cold bif of a morning, to see how little w’as left 
of yesterday’s sirline ; but he never said a syllabub : for true 
love don’t mind a pound of meat or so hextra. 

At first, he was very kind and attentive to all the gals ; 
Miss Betsy, in partickler, grew mighty fond of him : they sat, 
for whole evenings, playing cribbitch, he taking his pipe and 
glas, she her tea and muffing ; but as it was improper for her 
to come alone, she brought one of her sisters, and this was gen- 
rally Mary, — for he made a pint of asking her, too, — and one 
day, when one of the others came instead, he told her, very 
quitely, that he hadn’t invited her ; and Miss Buckmaster was 
too fond of muffings to try this game on again : besides, she 
was jealous of her three grown sisters, and considered Mary as 
only a child. Law bless us ! how she used to ogle him, and quot 
bits of pottry, and play “ Meet Me by Moonlike,” on an old 
gitter : she reglar flung herself at his head : but he wouldn’t 
have it, bein better ockypied elsewhere. 

One night, as genteel as possible, he brought home tickets 

27 


414 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 


for “Ashley’s,” and proposed to take two young ladies — Miss 
Betsy and Miss Mary, in course. I recklect he called me 
aside that afternoon, assuming a solamon and misterus hare, 
“Charles,” said he, are you up to snuff V' 

“Why sir,” said I, “I’m genrally considered tolerably downy.” 

“Well,” says he, “I’ll give you half a suffering if you can 
manage this bisness forme ; I’ve chose a rainy night on purpus. 
When the theatre is over, you must be waitin with two umbrel- 
lows ; give me one, and hold the- other over Miss Buckmaster: 
and, hark ye, sir, turn to the right when you leave the theater, 
and say the coach is ordered to stand a little way up the street, 
in order to get rid of the crowd.” 

We went (in a fly hired by Mr. A.), and never shall I forgit 
Cartliche’s hacting on that memrable night. Talk of Kimble I 
talk of Magreedy ! Ashley’s for my money, with Cartlitch in 
the principal part. But this is nothink to the porpus. When 
the piay was over, I was at the door with the umbrellos. It 
was raining cats and dogs, sure enough. 

Mr. Altamont came out presently. Miss Mary under his 
arm, and Miss Betsy following behind, rather sulky. “This 
way, sir,” cries I, pushin forward ; and I threw a great cloak 
over Miss Betsy, fit to smother her. Mr. A. and Miss Mary 
skipped on and was out of sight when Miss Betsy’s cloak was 
settled, you may be sure. 

“ They’re only gone to the fly, miss. It’s a little way up the 
street, away from the crowd of carridges.” And off we turned 
to the right., and no mistake. 

After marchin a little through the plash and mud, “ Has 
anybody seen Coxy’s fly?” cries I, with the most innocent 
haxent in the world. 

“ Cox’s fly ! ” hollows out one chap. “Is it the vaggin you 
want?” says another. “I see the blackin wan pass,” giggles 
out another genlmn ; and there was such a hinterchange of com- 
pliments as you never heerd. I pass them over though, because 
some of ’em were not wer}* genteel. 

“ Law, miss,” said I, “ what shall I do ? My master will 
never forgive me ; and I haven’t a single sixpence to pay a 
coach.” MissBetsy was just going to call one when I said that; 
but the coachman wouldn’t have it at that price, he said, and I 
knew very well that she hadn’t four or five shillings to pay for a 
wehicle. So, in the midst of that tarin rain, at midnight, we 
had to walk four miles, from Westminster Bridge to Bentonwille ; 
and what was wuss, I didnP happen to knozu the laay. A veiy 
nice walk it was, and no mistake. 


M/SS S HUM'S HUSBAND. 


415 


At about half-past two, we got safe to John Street. My 
master was at the garden gate. Miss Marj^ flew into Miss 
Betsy’s arms, while master began cussin and swearing at me for 
disobeying his orders, and turning to the right instead of to the 
left I Law bless me 1 his hacting of hanger was very near as 
natral and as terryble as Mr. Cartlich’s in the play. 

They had waited half-an-hour, he said, in the fly, in the little 
street at the left of the theatre ; they had drove up and down 
in the greatest fright possible j and at last came home, thinking 
it was in vain to wait any more. They gave her ’ot rum-and- 
water and roast oysters for supper, and this consoled her a 
little. 

I hope nobody will cast an imputation on Miss Mary for her 
share in this adventer, for she was as honest a gal as ever lived, 
and I do believe is hignorant to this day of our little strattygim. 
Besides, all’s fair in love ; and, as my master could never get 
to see her alone, on account of her infernal eleven sisters and 
ma, he took this opportunity of expressin his attachment to her. 

If he was in love with her before, you may be sure she paid 
it him back again now. Ever after the night at Ashley’s, they 
were as tender as two tuttle-doves — which fully accounts for the 
axdent what happened to me, in being kicked out of the room : 
and in course I bore no mallis. 

I don’t know whether Miss Betsy still fancied that my mas- 
ter was in love with her, but she loved muffings and tea, and 
kem down to his parlor as much as ever. 

Now comes the sing’lar part of my history. 


Chapter II. 

But who was this genlmn with a fine name: — Mr. Frederic 
Altamont ? or what was he ? The most inysterus genlmn that 
ever I knew. Once I said to him on a wery rainy day, “ Sir, 
shall I bring the gig down to your ofiice ? ” and he gave me one 
of his black looks and one of his loudest hoaths, and told me 
to mind my own bizziness, and attend to my orders. ' Another 
day, — it was on the day when Miss Mary slapped Miss Betsy’s 
face, — Miss M., who adoared him, as I have said already, kep 
on asking him what was his buth, parentidg, and edicration. 
“Dear Frederic,” says she, “why this mistry about yourself 
and your hactions ? why hide from your little Mary ’’—they were 
as tender as this, I can tell you — “ your buth and your pro- 
fessin ” 


4 i 6 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 

I spose Mr. Frederic looked black, for I was only listening, 
and he said, in a voice hagitated by emotion, “ Mary,” said he, 
“ if you love me, ask me this no more : let it be sfishnt for you 
CO know that I am a honest man, and that a secret, what it 
would be misery for you to larn, must hang over all my actions 
— that is from ten o’clock till six.” 

They went on chaffin and talking in this melumcolly and 
mysterus way, and I didn’t lose a word of what they said ; for 
them houses in Pentonwille have only walls made of paste- 
board, and you hear rayther better outside the room than in. 
But, though he kep up his secret, he swore to her his affektion 
this day pint blank. Nothing should prevent him, he said, 
from leading her to the halter, from makin her his adoarable 
wife. After this was a slight silence. “ Dearest Frederic,” 
mummered out miss, speakin as if she was chokin, “ I am yours 
— yours for ever.” And then silence agen, and one or two 
smax, as if there was kissin going on. Here I thought it best 
to give a rattle at the door-lock ; for, as I live, there was old 
Mrs. Shum a-walkin down the stairs ! 

It appears that one of the younger gals, a-looking out of the 
bedrum window, had seen my master come in, and coming 
down to tea halFan-hour afterwards, said so in a cussary way. 
Old Mrs. Shum, who was a dragon of vertyou, cam bustling 
down the stairs, panting and frowning, as fat atid as fierce as a 
old sow at feedin time. 

“ Where’s the lodger, fellow ? ” says she to me. 

I spoke loud enough to be heard down the street — “ If you 
mean, ma’am, my master, Mr. Frederick Altamont, esquire, 
he’s just stept in, and is puttin on clean shoes in his bed- 
room.” 

She said nothink in answer, but flumps past me, and opening 
the parlor door, sees master looking very queer, and Miss Mary 
a-drooping down her head like a pale lily. 

“ Did you come into my famly,” says she, “ to corrupt my 
daughters, and to destroy the hinnocence of that infamous gal ? 
Did you come here, sir, as a seducer, or only as a lodger ? 
Speak, sir, speak ! ” — and she folded her arms quite fierce, and 
looked like Mrs. Siddums in the Traggic Mews. 

“ I came here, Mrs. Shum,” said he, “ because I love your 
daughter, or I never would have condescended to live in such 
a beggarly hole. I have treated her in every respect like a 
genlmn, and she is as innocent now, ma’am, as she was when 
she was born. If she’ll marry me, I am ready; if she’ll leave 
you, she shall have a home where she shall be neither bullyd nor 


M/SS SHUM'S HUSBAND. 


417 


Starved : no hangry frumps of sisters, no cross mother-in-law, 
only an affeckshnat husband, and all the pure pleasures of 
Hyming.” 

Mary flung herself into his arms — “ Dear, dear Frederic,’* 
says she, “ I’ll never leave you.” 

“ Miss,” says Mrs. Shum, “ you ain’t a Slamcoe nor yet a 
Buckmaster, thank God. You may marry this person if your 
pa thinks proper, and he may insult me — ^brave me — trample 
on my feelinx in my own house — and there’s no-o-o-obody by to 
defend me.” 

I knew what she was going to be at : on came her histarrix 
agen, and she began screechin and roarin like mad. Down 
comes of course the eleven gals and old Shum. There was a 
pretty row. “Look here, sir,” says she, “ at the conduck of 
your precious trull of a daughter — alone with this man, kissin 
and dandlin, and Lawd knows wdiat besides.” 

“ What, he ? ” cries Miss Betsy — “ he in love with Mary. 
Oh, the wretch, the monster, the deceiver ! ” — and she falls 
down too, screeching away as loud as her mamma ; for the silly 
creature fancied still that Altamont had a fondness for her. 

"^Silence these women ! ” shouts out Altamont, thundering 
loud. “ I love your daughter, Mr. Shum. I will take her with- 
out a penny, and can afford to keep her. If you don’t give her 
to me, she’ll come of her own will. Is that enough ? — may I 
have her 'i ” 

“ We’ll talk of this matter, sir,” says Mr. Shum, looking as 
high and mighty as an alderman. “ Gals, go up stairs with 
your dear mamma.” — And they all trooped up again, and so the 
skrimmage ended. 

You may be sure that old Shum was not very sorry to get a 
husband for his daughter Mary, for the old creatur loved her 
better than all the pack which had been brought to him or born 
to him by Mrs. Buckmaster. But, strange to say, when he came 
to talk of settlements and so forth, not a word would my master 
answer. He said he made four hundred a year reglar — he 
wouldn’t tell how — but Mary, if she married him, must share all 
that he had, and ask no questions ; only this he would say, as 
he’d said before, that he was a honest man. 

They were married in a few days, and took a very genteel 
house at Islington ; but still my master went away to business, 
and nobody knew where. Who could he be ? 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 


Chapter III. 

If ever a young kipple in the middlin classes began life 
with a chance of happiness, it was Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Alta- 
mont. There house at Cannon Row, Islington, was as com- 
fortable as house could be. Carpited from top to to ; pore’s 
rates small ; furnitur elygant ; and three deomestix : of which 
I, in course, was one. My life wasn’t so easy as in Mr. A.’s 
bachelor days ; but, what then ? The three W’s is my maxum : 
plenty of work, plenty of wittles, and plenty of wages. Alta- 
mont kep his gig no longer, but went to the City in an omlibuster. 

One would have thought, I say, that Mrs. A., with such an 
effeckschnut husband, might have been as happy as herblessid 
majisty. Nothing of the sort. For the fust six months it was 
all very w'ell ; but then she grew gloomier and gloomier, though 
A. did everythink in life to please her. 

Old Shum used to come reglarly four times a wick to Can- 
non Row, where he lunched, and dined, and teed, and supd. 
The pore little man was a thought too fond of wine and spirits ; 
and many, and many’s the night that I’ve had to support him 
home. And you may be sure that Miss Betsy did not now 
desert her sister : she was at our place mornink, noon, and 
night ; not much to my master’s liking, though he was too good- 
natured to wex his wife in trifles. 

But Betsy never had forgotten the recollection of old days, 
and hated Altamont like the foul feind. She put all kind of 
bad things into the head of poor innocent missis ; who, from 
being all gayety and cheerfulness, grew to be quite melumcolly 
and pale, and retchid, just as if she had been the most misr- 
able woman in the world. 

In three months more, a baby comes, in course, and with it 
old Mrs. Shum, who stuck to Mrs.’ side as close as a wampire, 
and made her retchider and retchider. She used to bust into 
tears when Altamont came home : she used to sigh and wheep 
over the pore child, and say, “ My child, my child, your father 
is false to me ; ” or, “ your father deceives me ; ” or, “ what will 
you do when your pore mother is no more ? ” or such like 
sentimental stuff. 

It all came from Mother Shum, and her old trix, as I soon 
found out. The fact is, when there is a mistry of this kind in 
the house, its a servant’s duty to listen ; and listen I did, one 
day when Mrs. was cryin as usual, and fat Mrs. Shum a sittin 
consolin her, as she called it : though heaven knows, she only 
grew wuss and wuss for the consolation. 


Af/SS SHUM'S HUSBAND. 


419 

Well, I listened ; Mrs. Shum was a-rockin the baby, and 
misses cryin as yousual. 

“ Pore dear innocint,” says Mrs. S., heavin a great sigh, 
“ you’re the child of a unknown father and a misrable mother.” 

“ Don’t speak ill of Frederic, mamma,” says missis ; “ he is 
all kindness to me.” 

“All kindness, indeed ! yes, he gives you a fine house, and 
a fine gownd, and a ride in a fly whenever you please ; but 
where does all his money co7ne from ? Who is he — what is he ? 
Who knows that he mayn’t be a murderer, or a housebreaker, 
or a utterer of forged notes ? How can he make his monr^f 
honestly, when he won’t say where he gets it ? Why does he 
leave you eight hours every blessid day, and won’t say where 
he goes to ? Oh, Mary, Mary, you .are the most injured f 
women ! 

And with this Mrs. Shum began sobbin ; and Miss Betsy 
began yowling like a cat in a gitter ; and pore missis cried, too 
— tears is so-remarkable infeckshsu. 

“Perhaps, mamma,” wimpered out she, “Frederic is a shop- 
boy, and don’t like me to know that he is not a gentleman.” 

“ A shopboy,” says Betsy ; “ he a shopboy ! O no, no, no ! 
more likely a wretched willain of a murderer, stabbin and 
robing all day, and feedin you with the fruits of his ill-gotten 
games ! ” 

Alore cryin and screechin here took place, in which the 
baby joined ; and made a very pretty consort, I can tell you. 

“ He can’t be a robber,” cries missis ; “ he’s too good, too 
kind, for that : besides, murdering is done at night, and Frederic 
is always home at eight.” 

“ But he can be a forger,” says Betsy, “ a wicked, wicked 
forger. Why does he go away every day } to forge notes, to be 
sure. Why does he go the City } to be near banks and places, 
and so do it more at his convenience.” 

“ But he brings' home a sum of money every day — about 
thirty shillings — sometimes fifty : and then he smiles, and says 
it’s a good day’s work. This is not like a forger,” said pore 
Mrs. A. 

“ I have it — I have it ! ” screams out Mrs. S. “ The villain 
— the sneaking, double-faced Jonas I he’s married to somebody 
else he is, and that’s why he leaves you, the base biggymlst ? ” 

At this, Mrs. Altamont, struck all of a heap, fainted clean 
away. A dreadful business it was — hystarrix ; then hystarrix, 
in course, from Mrs. Shum ; bells ringin, child squalin, suvvants 
tearin up and down stairs with hot water ! If ever there is a noo- 


420 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 


sance in the world, it’s a house where faintin is always going on. 
I wouldn’t live in one, — no, not to be groom of the chambers, 
and git two hundred a year. 

It was eight o’clock in the evenin when this row took place ; 
and such a row it was, that nobody but me heard master’s 
knock. He came in, and heard the hooping, and screeching, 
and roaring. He seemed very much frightened at first, and 
said, “ What is it ? ” 

“ Mrs. Shum’s here,” says I, “ and Mrs. in astarrix.” 

Altamont looked as black as thunder, and growled out a 
word which I don’t like to name, — let it suffice that it begins 
with a d and ends with a nation ; and he tore up stairs like mad. 

He bust open the bedroom door ; missis lay quite pale and 
stony on the sofy ; the babby was screechin from the craddle ; 
Miss Betsy was sprawlin over missis ; and Mrs. Shum half on 
the bed and half on the ground ; all howlin and squeelin, like 
so many dogs at the moond. 

When A. came in, the mother and daughter stopped all of 
a sudding. There had been one or two tiffs before between 
them, and they feared him as if he had been a hogre. 

“ What’s this infernal screeching and crying about ? ” says 
he. “Oh, Mr. Altamont,” cries the old woman, “you know 
too well ; it’s about you that this darling child is misrabble ! ” 

“ And why about me, pray, madam } ” 

“ Why, sir, dare you ask why ? Because you deceive her, 
sir ; because you are a false, cowardly traitor, sir ; because you 
have a wife elsewhere., sir !'’ And the old lady and Miss Betsy 
began to roar again as loud as ever. 

Altamont pawsed for a minnit, and then flung the door wide 
open ; nex he seized Miss Betsy as if his hand were a vice, and 
he world her out of the room ; then up he goes to Mrs. S. 
“ Get up,” says he, thundering loud, “ you lazy, trollopping, 
mischief-making, lying old fool ! Get up, and get out of this 
house. You have been the cuss and bain of my happyniss 
since you entered it. With your d — d lies, and novvle reading, 
and histerrix, you have perwerted Mary, and made her almost 
as mad as yourself.” 

“ My child ! my child ! ” shriex out Mrs. Shum, and clings 
round missis. But Altamont ran between them, and griping 
the old lady by her arm, dragged her to the door. “ Follow 
your daughter, ma’m,” says he, and down she went. “ ChawiSy 
see those ladies to the doorf he hollows out, “ and never let them 
pass it again.” We walked down together, and off they went : 
and master locked and double-locked the bedroom door after 


MISS SHUM'S HUSBAND. 


421 


him, intendin, of course, to have a tator-tator (as they say) with 
his wife. You may be sure that I followed up stairs again 
pretty quick, to hear the result of their confidence. 

As they say at St. Stevenses, it was rayther a stormy debate. 
“ Mary,” says master, ‘‘you’re no longer the merry grateful gal 
I knew and loved at Pentonwill : there’s some secret a pressin 
on you — there’s no smilin welcom for me now, as there used 
formly to be I Your mother and sister-in-law have perwerted 
you, Mary : and that’s why I’ve drove them from this house, 
which they shall not re-enter in my life.” 

“ O, Frederic ! it’s you is the cause, and not I. Why do you 
have any mistry from me ? Where do you spend your days 1 
Why did you leave me, even on the day of your marriage, for 
eight hours, and continue to do so every day ? ” 

“ Because, says he, “ I makes my livelihood by it. I leave 
you, and I don’t tell you how I make it : for it would make you 
none the happier to know.” 

It was in this way the convysation ren on — more tears and 
questions on my missises part, more sturmness and silence on 
my master’s : it ended for the first time since their marridge in 
a reglar quarrel. Wery difrent, I can tell you, from all the ham- 
merous billing and kewing which had proceeded the nupshuls. 

Master went out, slamming the door in a fury ; as well he 
might. Says he, “ If I can’t have a comforable life, I can 
have a jolly one ; ” and so he went off to the hed tavern, and 
came home that evening beesly intawsicated. When high 
words begin in a family drink generally follows on the genlman’s 
side j and then, fearwell to all conjubial happyniss ! These 
two pipple, so fond and loving, were now sirly, silent, and full 
of il wil. Master went out earlier, and came home later ; mis- 
sis cried more, and looked even paler than before. 

Well, things went on in this uncomfortable way, master still 
in the mopes, missis tempted by the deamons of jellosy and 
curosity ; until a singlar axident brought to light all the goings 
on of Mr. Altamont. 

It was the tenth of January ; I recklect the day, for old Shum 
gev me half-a-crownd (the fust and last of his money I ever see, 
by the way) : he was dining along with master, and they were 
making merry together. 

Master said, as he was mixing his fifth tumler of punch and 
little Shum his twelfth or so — master said, “ I see you twice in 
the City to-day, Mr. Shum.” 

“ Well, that’s curious ! ” says Shum. “ I was in the City« 
To-day’s the day when the divvydins (God bless ’em) is paid * 


42 2 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

and me and Mrs. S. went for onr half-year’s inkem. But we 
only got out of the coach, crossed the street to the Bank, took 
our money, and got in agen. How could you see me twice ? ” 

Altamont stuttered and stammered and hemd, and hawd. 
“ O ! ” says he, “ I was passing — passing as you went in and 
out.” And he instantly turned the conversation, and began 
talking about pollytix, or the weather, or some such stuff. 

“Yes, my dear,” said my missis, “but how could you see 
papa twice t ” Master didn’t answer, but talked pollytix more 
than ever. Still she would continy on. “ Where was you, my 
dear, when you saw pa ? What were you doing, my love, to 
see pa twice ? ” and so forth. Master looked angrier and 
angrier, and his wife only pressed him wuss and wuss. 

This was, as I said, little Shum’s twelfth tumler ; and I knew 
pritty well that he could git very little further ; for, as reglar as 
the thirteenth came, Shum was drunk. The thirteenth did 
come, and its consquinzes. I was obliged to leed him home 
to John Street, where I left him in the hangry arms of Mrs. 
Shum. 

“ How the d — ,” sayd he all the way, “ how the d dd — the 
deddy — deddy — devil — could he have seen me twice ? ” 

Chapter IV. 

It was a sad slip on Altamont’s part, for no sooner did he 
go out the next morning than missis went out too. She tor 
down the street, and never stopped till she came to her pa’s 
house at Pentonwill. She was clositid for an hour with her 
ma, and when she left her she drove straight to the City. She 
walked before the Bank, and behind the Bank, and round the 
Bank : she came home disperryted, having learned nothink. 

And it was now an extraordinar}^ thing that from Shum’s 
house for the next ten days there was nothing but expyditions 
into the City. Mrs. S., tho her dropsicle legs had never carred 
her half so fur before, was eternally on the key vevCj as the 
French say. If she didn’t go. Miss Betsy did, or misses did : 
they seemed to have an attrackshun to the Bank, and went 
there as natral as an omlibus. 

At last one day, old Mrs. Shum comes to our house — (she 
wasn’t admitted when master was there, but came still in his 
absints) — and she wore a hair of tryumph, as she entered. 
“ Mary,” says she, “ where is the money your husbind brought 
to you yesterday ? ” My master used always to give it to 
missis when he returned. 


M/SS SHUAVS HUSBAND. 


423 


“ The money, ma ! ” says Mary. “ Why here ! ” And 
pulling out her puss, she showed a sovrin, a good heap of silver, 
and an odd-looking little coin. 

“ That’s it ! that’s it ! ” cried Mrs. S. “ A Queene Anne’s 
sixpence, isn’t it, clear — dated seventeen hundred and three ? ” 

It was so sure enough : a Queen Ans sixpence of that very 
date. 

“ Now, my love,” says she, “ I have found him ! Come 
with me to-morrow, and you shall know all ! ” 

And now comes the end of my story. 

# # # # ^ # 

The ladies nex morning set out for the City, and I walked 
behind, doing the genteel thing, with a nosegy and a goold stick. 
We walked down the New Road — we walked down the City 
Road — we walked to the Bank. We were crossing from that 
heddyfiz to the other side of Cornhill, when all of a sudden 
missis shreeked, and fainted spontaneously away. 

I rushed forrard, and raised her to my arms : spiling thereby 
a new weskit and a pair of crimson smalcloes. I rushed forrard, 
I say, very nearly knocking down the old sweeper who was 
hobbling away as fast as posibil. We took her to Birch’s ; 
we provided her with a hackney-coach and every lucksury, and 
carried her home to Islington. 

******* 

That night master never came home. Nor the nex night, 
nor the nex. On the fourth day an auctioneer arrived ; he took 
an infantry of the furnitur, and placed a bill in the window. 

At the end of the wick Altamont made his appearance. 
He was haggard and pale ; not so haggard, however, not so 
pale as his miserable wife. 

He looked at her very tendrilly. I may say, it’s from him 

that I coppied my look to Miss . He looked at her very 

tendrilly and held out his arms. She gev a suffycating shreek, 
and rusht into his umbraces. 

“ Mary,” says he, ‘‘you know all now. I have sold my place ; 
I have got three thousand pounds for it, and saved two more. 
I’ve sold my house and furnitur, and that brings me another. 
We’ll go abroad and love each other, has formly.” 

And now you ask me. Who he was ? I shudder to relate. 
Mr. Haltamont swep the crossing from the Bank to Corn- 
hill ! ! 

Of cors, /left his servis. I met him, few years after, at 
Badden-Badden, where he and Mrs. A. were much respectid, 
and pass for pipple of propaty. 


424 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. /. YELLOWPLUSH. 


THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCEACE. 


DIMOND CUT DIMOND. 

The name of my nex master was, if posbil, still more elly- 
gant and youfonious than that of my fust. I now found myself 
boddy servant to the Honrabble Halgernon Percy Deuceace, 
youngest and fifth son of the Earl of Crabs. 

Halgernon was a barrystir — that is, he lived in Pump Cort, 
Temple : a wulgar naybrood, witch praps my readers don’t no. 
Suffiz to say, it’s on the confines of the citty, and the choasen 
aboad of the lawyers of this metrappolish. 

When I say that Mr. Deuceace was a barrystir, I don’t 
mean that he went sesshums or surcoats (as they call ’em), 
but simply that he kep chambers, lived in Pump Cort, and 
looked out for a commitionarship, or a revisinship, or any other 
place that the Wig guvvyment could give him. His father was 
a Wig pier (as the landriss told me), and had been a Toary 
pier. The fack is, his lordship was so poar, that he would be 
anythink or nothink, to get provisions for his sons and an inkum 
for himself. 

I phansy that he aloud Halgernon two hundred a year ; and 
it would have been a very comforable maintenants, only he 
knever paid him. 

Owever, the young genlmn was a genlmn, and no mistake ; 
he got his allowents of nothing a year, and spent it in the most 
honrabble and fashnabble manner. He kep a kab — he went 
to Holmax — and Crockfud’s — he moved in the most xquizzit 
suckles and trubbld the law boox very little, I can tell you. 
Those fashnabble gents have ways ofgetten money, witch corn- 
man pipple doan’t understand. 

Though he only had a therd floar in Pump Cort, he lived as 
if he had the welth of Cresas. The tenpun notes floo abowt as 
common as haypince — clarrit and shampang was at his house 
as vulgar as gin ; and verry glad I was, to be sure, to be a val- 
ley to a zion of the nobillaty. 

Deuceace had, in his sittii;i-room, a large pictur on a sheet of 


THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCE ACE. 


425 


paper. The names of his family was wrote on it ; it was wrote 
in the shape of a tree, a-groin out of a man-in-armer’s stomick, 
and the names were on little plates among the bows. The pic- 
tur said that the Deuceaces kem into England in the year 1066, 
along with William Conqueruns. My master called it his pody- 
gree. I do bleev it was because he had this pictur, and be- 
cause he was the Honrabble Deuceace, that he mannitched to 
live as he did. If he had been a common man, you’d have 
said he was no better than a swinler. It’s only rank and buth 
that can warrant such singularities as my master show’d. For 
it’s no use disgysing it — the Honrabble Halgernon was a gam- 
bler. For a man of wulgar family, it’s the wust trade that can 
be — for a man of common feelinx of honesty, this profession is 
quite imposbil ; but for a real thoroughbread genlmn, it’s the 
esiest and most prophetable line he can take. 

It may praps appear curious that such a fashnabble man 
should live in the Temple ; but it must be recklected, that it’s 
not only lawyers who live in what’s called the Ins of Cort. 
Many batchylers, who have nothink to do with lor, have here 
their loginx ; and many sham barr^^sters, who never put on a 
wig and gownd twise in their lives, kip apartments in the 
Temple, instead of Bon Street, Pickledilly, or other fashnabble 
places. 

Frinstance, on our stairkis (so these houses are called), 
there was 8 sets of chamberses, and only 3 lawyers. These was 
bottom floar, Screwson, Hewson, and Jewson, attorneys; fust 
floar, Mr. Sergeant Flabber — opsite, Mr. Counslor Bruffy ; and 
secknd pair, Mr. Haggerstony, an Irish counslor, praktising at 
the Old Baly, and lickwise what they call reporter to the Morn- 
ing Post nyouspapper. Opsite him was wrote 

Mr. Richard Blewitt ; 

and on the thud floar, with my master, lived one Mr. Dawkins. 

This young fellow was a new-comer into the Temple, and 
unlucky it was for him too — he’d better have never been born ; 
for it’s my firm apinion that the Temple ruined him — that is, 
with the help of my master and Mr. Dick Blewitt : as you shall 
hear. 

Mr. Dawkins, as I w^as gave to understand by his young 
man, had jest left the Universary of Oxford, and had a pretty 
little fortn of his own — six thousand pound, or so — in the stox. 
He was jest of age, an orfin who had lost his father and 
mother ; and having distinkwished hisself at Collitch, where he 


426 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

gained seffral prices, was come to town to push his fortn, and 
study the barryster’s bisness. - 

Not bein of a very high fammly hisself — indeed, I’ve heard 
say his father was a chismonger, or somethink of that lo sort — ■ 
Dawkins was glad to find his old Oxford frend, Mr. Blewitt, 
yonger son to rich Squire Blewitt, of Listershire, and to take 
rooms so near him. 

Now, tho’ there was a considdrable intimacy between me 
and Mr. Blewitt’s gentleman, there was scarcely any betwixt 
our masters, — mine being too much of the aristoxy to associate 
with one of Mr. Blewitt’s sort. Blewitt was what they call a 
bettin man ; he went reglar to Tattlesall’s, kep a pony, wore a 
white hat, a blue berd’s-eye handkercher, and a cut-away coat. 
In his manners he was the very contrary of my master, who 
was a slim, ellygant man as ever I see — he had very white 
hands, rayther a sallow face, with sharp dark ise, and small 
wiskus neatly trimmed an^ as black as Warren’s jet — lie spoke 
very low and soft — he seemed to be watchin the person with 
whom he was in convysation, and always flatterd everybody. 
As for Blewitt, he was quite of another sort. He was always 
swearin, singing, and slappin people on the back, as hearty as 
posbill. He seemed a merry, careless, honest cretur, whom 
one would trust with life and soul. So thought Dawkins, at 
least ; who, though a quiet young man, fond of his boox, nov- 
vles, Byron’s poems, floot-playing, and such like scientafic amuse” 
mints, grew hand-in-glove with honest Dick Blewitt, and soon 
after with my master, the Honrabble Halgernon. Poor Daw ! 
he thought he was makin good connections and real trends — he 
had fallen in with a couple of the most etrocious swinlers that 
ever lived. 

Before Mr. Dawkins’s arrival in our house, Mr. Deuceace 
had barely condysended to speak to Mr. Blewitt ; it was only 
about a month after that suckumstance that my master, all of 
a sudding, grew very friendly with him. The reason was pretty 
clear, — Deuceace wanted him. Dawkins had not been an hour 
in master’s company before he knew that he had a pidgin to 
pluck. 

Blewitt knew this too : and bein very fond of pidgin, in- 
tended to keep this one entirely to himself. It was amusin to 
see the Honrabble Halgernon manuvring to get this poor bird 
out of Blewitt’s clause, who thought he had it safe. In fact, 
he’d brought Dawkins to these chambers for that very porpos, 
thinking to have him under his eye, and strip him at leisure. 

My master very soon found out what was Mr. Blewitt’s 


THE AMOURS OF MR, DEUCE ACE. 


427 

game. Gamblers know gamblers, if not by instink, at least by 
reputation ; and though Mr. Blewitt moved in a much lower 
speare than Mr. Deuceace, they knew each other’s dealins and 
caracters puffickly well. 

Charles you scoundrel,” says Deuceace to me one day (he 
always spoak in that kind way), “ who is this person that has 
taken the opsit chambers, and plays the flute so industrusly } ” 

“ It’s Mr. Dawkins, a rich young gentleman from Oxford, 
and a great friend of Mr. Blewittses, sir,” says I ; “ they seem 
to live in each other’s rooms.” 

Master said nothink, but hegrm’ti — my eye, how he did grin. 
Not the fowl find himself could snear more satannickly. 

I knew what he meant : 

Imprimish. A man who plays the floot is a simpleton. 

Secknly. Mr. Blewitt is a raskle. 

Thirdmo. When a raskle and a simpleton is always to- 
gether, and when the simpleton is rich., one knows pretty well 
what will come of it. 

I was but a lad in them days, but I knew what was what, 
as well as my master ; it’s not gentlemen only that’s up to 
sno'ugh. Law bless us ! there was four of us on this stairkes, 
four as nice young men as you ever see : Mr. Bruffy’s young 
man, Mr. Dawkinses, Mr. Blewitt’s, and me — and we knew what 
our masters was about as well as they did theirselfs. Frinstance, 
I can say this for myself., there wasn’t a paper in Deuceace’s 
desk or drawer, not a bill, a note, or mimerandum, which I 
hadn’t read as well as he : with Blewitt’s it was the same — me 
and his young man used to read ’em all. There wasn’t a bottle 
of wine that we didn’t get a glass out of, nor a pound of sugar 
that we didn’t have some lumps of it. We had keys to all the 
cubbards — we pipped into all the letters that kem and went — 
we pored over all the bill-files — we’d the best pickers out of 
the dinners, the livvers of the fowls, the force-mit balls out of 
the soup, the egs from the sallit. As for the coals and candles, 
we left them, to the landrisses. You may call this robry — non- 
since — it’s only our rights — a suvvant’s purquizzits is as sacred 
as the laws of Hengland. 

Well, the long and short of it is this. Richard Blewitt, 
esquire, was sityouated as follows : He’d an incum of three 
hunderd a year from his father. Out of this he had to pay 
one hundred and ninety for money borrowed by him atcollidge, 
seventy for chambers, seventy more for his boss, aty for his 
suvvant on bord wagis, and about three hunderd and fifty for 
a sepparat establishment in the Regency Park ; besides this, 


428 the memoirs OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH, 

his pockit-money, say a hunderd, his eatin, drinkin, and wine- 
Warchant’s bill, about two hunderd moar. So that you see he 
laid by a pretty handsome sum at the end of the year. 

My master was diffrent ; and being a more fashnabble man 
than Mr. B., in course he owed a deal more mony. There was 
fust ; 

Account at Crockford’s o o 

Bills of xchange and I. O. U.’s (but he didn’t pay these 


in most cases) 

21 tailors’ bills, in ail 
3 hossdealers’ do. . . 

2 coachbuiider . 

Bills contracted at Cambridtch 
Sundries .... 


4963 o o 
1306 II 9 


402 o o 
506 o o 
2193 6 8 
987 10 o 


14069 8 s 


I give this as a curosity — pipple don’t know how in many 
cases fashnabble life is carried on ; and to know even what a 
real gnlmn owes is somethink instructif and agreeable. 

But to my tail. The very day after my master had made 
the inquiries concerning Mr. Dawkins, witch I mentioned al- 
ready, he met Mr. Blewitt on the stairs ; and byoutifde it was 
to see how this genlmn, who had before been almost cut by my 
jnaster, was now received by him. One of the sweetest smiles 
I ever saw was now vizzable on Mr. Deuceace’s countenance. 
He held out his hand, covered with a white kid glove, and said, 
in the most frenly tone of vice posbill, “ What ? Mr. Blewitt ? 
It is an age since we met. What a shame that such near nay- 
bors should see each other so seldom ! ” 

Mr. Blewitt, who was standing at his door, in a pe-green 
dressing-gown, smoakin a segar, and singing a hunting coarus, 
looked surprised, flattered, and then suspicious. 

“ Why, yes,” says he, “ it is, Mr. Deuceace, a long time.” 

“ Not, I think, since we dined at Sir George Hookey’s. By 
the bye, what an evening that was — hay, Mr. Blewitt ? What 
wine ? what capital songs ? I recollect your ‘ May-day in the 
morning ’ — cuss me, the best comick song I ever heard. I was 
speaking to the Duke of Doncaster about it only yesterday. 
You know the duke, I think.?” 

Mr. Blewitt said, quite surly, “ No, I don’t.” 

“Not know him !” cries master; “why, hang it, Blewitt! 
he knows jjw ; as every sporting man in England does, I should 
think. Why, man, your good things are in everybody’s mouth 
at Newmarket.” 

And so master went on chaffin Mr. Blewitt. That genlmn at 
fust answered him quite short and angry : but, after a little 


THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCE ACE. 


429 


more flummery, he grew as pleased as posbill, took in all 
Deuceace’s flattry, and bleeved all his lies. At last the door 
shut, and they both went into Mr. Blewitt’s chambers together. 

Of course I can’t say what past there ; but in an hour 
master kem up to his own room as yaller as mustard, and 
smellin sadly of backo-smoke. I never see any genlmn more 
sick than he was ; he’d bee7t smoakin scaga7-s along with Blewitt. 
I said nothink, in course, tho I’d often heard him, ^ xpress his 
borrow of backo, and knew very well he would as soon swallow 
pizon as smoke. But he wasn’t a chap to do a thing without a 
reason : if he’d been smoakin, I warrant he had smoked to 
some porpus. 

I didn’t hear the convysation between ’em ; but Mr. Blewitt’s 
man did : it was, — “ Well, Mr. Blewitt, what capital seagars ! 
Have you one for a friend to smoak ? ” (The old fox, it wasn’t 
only the seagars he was a-smoakin!) “Walk in,” says Mr. 
Blewitt ; and they began a-chaffin together ; master very ank- 
shous about the young gintleman who had come to live in our 
chambers, Mr. Dawkins, and always coming back to that sub- 
ject, — saying that people on the same stairkis ot to be frenly ; 
how glad he’d be for his part to know Mr. Dick Blewitt, and 
a7iy frieTid of his., and so on. Mr. Dick, howsever, seamed 
quite aware of the trap laid for him. “ I really don’t know 
this Dawkins,” says he : “ he’s a chismonger’s son, I hear ; and 
tho I’ve exchanged visits with him, I doan’t intend to continyou 
the acquaintance, — not wishin to assoshate with that kind of 
pipple.” So they v.^ent on, master fishin, and Mr. Blewitt not 
wishin to take the hook at no price. 

“ Confound the vulgar thief ! ” muttard my master, as he 
was la3dng on his sophy, after being so very ill ; “ I’ve poisoned 
myself with his infernal tobacco, and he has foiled me. The 
cursed swindling boor ! he thinks he’ll ruin this poor cheese- 
monger, does he ? I’ll step in, and wa7'ii him.” 

I thought I should bust a-laffln, when he talked in this style. 
I knew very well what his “warning” meant, — lockin the 
stable door but stealin the boss fust. 

Next day, his strattygam for becoming acquainted with Mr. 
Dawkins we exicuted ; and very pritty it was. 

Besides potry and the flute, Mr. Dawkins, I must tell you, 
had some other parshallities — wiz., he was very fond of good 
eatin and drinkin. After doddling over his music and boox all 
day, this young genlmn used to sally out of evenings, dine 
sumptiousfy at a tavern, drinkin all sots of wine along with his 
friend Mr. Blewitt. He was a quiet young fellow enough at 

28 


430 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWFLUSH. 

fust ; but it was Mr. E, who (for his own porpuses, no doubt,) 
had got him into this kind of life. Well, I needn’t say that he 
who eats a fine dinner, and drinks too much overnight, wants a 
bottle of sodav/ater, and a gril, praps,’ in the morning. Such 
was Mr. Dawkinses case ; and reglar almost as twelve o’clock 
came, the waiter from “ Dix Coffy-house ” was to be seen on 
our stairkis, bringing up Mr. D.’s hot breakfast. 

No man would have thought there was any think in such a 
trifling cirkumstance ; master did, though, and pounced upon 
it like a cock on a barlycorn. 

He sent me out to Mr. Morell’s in Pickledilly, for wot’s 
called a Strasbug-pie — in French, a paity defau graw.^^ He 
takes a card, and nails it on the outside case (patty defaw graws 
come generally in a round wooden box, like a drumb) ; and 
what do you think he writes on it ? why, as folios : — “ For the 
Honorable Algernon Percy Deuceace, 6^r., &^c., With Prince 

Talley7‘a7ia'' s co7nplimentsl^ 

Prince Tallyram’s complimints, indeed ! I laff when I 
think of it, still, the old surpint ! He was a surpint, that Deuce- 
ace, and no mistake. 

Well, by a most extrornary piece of ill-luck, the nex day 
punctially as Mr. Dawkinses brexfas was coming up the stairs, 
Mr. Halgernon Percy Deuceace was going dow7i. He was as 
gay as a lark, humming an Oppra tune, and twizzting round his 
head his hevy gold-headed cane. Down he went very fast, and 
by a most unlucky axdent struck his cane against the waiter’s 
tray, and away went Mr. Dawkinses gril, kayann, kitchup, soda- 
water and all ! I can’t think how my master should have choas 
such an exact time ; to be sure, his windo looked upon the cort, 
and he could see every one who came into our door. 

As soon as the axdent had took place, master was in such a 
rage as, to be sure, no man ever was in befor ; he swoar at the 
waiter in the most dreddlie way ; he threatened him with his 
stick, and it was only when he see that the waiter was rayther a 
bigger man than hisself that he was in the least pazzyfied. He 
returned to his own chambres ; and John, the waiter, went off 
for more gril to Dixes Coffy-house. 

“ This is a most unlucky axdent, to be sure, Charles,” says 
master to me, after a few minits paws, during witch he had 
been and wrote a note, put it into an anvelope, and sealed it 
with his big seal of arms. “ But stay — a thought strikes me — 
take this note to Mr. Dawkins, and that pye you brought yester- 
day ; and hearkye, you scoundrel, if you say where you got it I 
will break every bone in your skin ! ” 


THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCEACE. 


431 


These kind of prommises were among the few which I knew 
him to keep ; and as I loved boath my skinn and my boans, I 
carried the noat, and of cors said nothink. Waiting in Mr. 
Dawkinses chambus for a few min nits, I returned to my master 
with an anser. I may as well give both of these documence, of 
which I happen to have taken coppies : 


THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE TO T. S. DAWKINS, ESQ. 

Te7nple^ Tiiesday. 

“ Mr. Deuceace presents his compliments to Mr. Dawkins, and begs at the same time to 
offer his most sincere apologies and regrets for the accident which has Just taken place. 

“ May Mr. Deuceace be allowed to take a neighbor’s privilege, and to remedy the evil he 
has occasioned to the best of his power? If Mr. Dawkins will do him the favor to partake 
of the contents of the accompanying case (from Strasbourg direct, and the gift of a friend, 
on whose taste as a gourmand Mr. Dawkins may rely), perhaps he will find that it is not a 
bad substitute for the plat which Mr. Deuceace’s awkwardness destroyed. 

“ It will also, Mr. Deuceace is sure, be no small gratification to the original donor of the 
^1?/, when he learns that it has fallen into the hands of so celebrated a bon~viva7it as Mr. 
Dawkins. 

“ T. S. Dawkins, Esq., &‘C., <&»£■.” 


II. 


FROM T. S. DAWKINS, ESQ., TO THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE. 


“ Mr. Thomas Smith Dawkins presents his grateful compliments to the Hon. Mr. 
Deuceace, and accepts with the greatest pleasure Mr. Deuceace’s generous proffer. 

“ It would be one of the happiest moments of I\Ir. Smith Dawkins’s life if the Hon. 
Mr. Deuceace would eartend his £-enerosity still lurth&r, and condescend to partake of the 
repast which his munificent politeness has furnished. 

“ Temple, Tuesday.'^ 

Many and many a time, I say, have I grin’d over these 
letters, which I had wrote from the original by Mr. Bruffy’s 
copying dark. Deuceace’s flam about Prince Tallyram was 
puffickly successful. I saw young Dawkins blush with delite 
as he red the note ; he tore up for or five sheets before he com- 
posed the answer to it, which was as you red abuff, and roat in 
a hand quite trembling with pleasyer. If you could but have seen 
the look of triumph in Deuceace’s wicked black eyes, when he 
read the noat ! I never see a deamin yet, but I can phansy i, 
a holding a writhing soal on his pitchfork, and smilin like 
Deauceace. He dressed himself in his very best clothes, and 
in he went, after sending me over to say that he would xcept 
with pleasyour Mr. Dawkins’s invite. 

The pie was cut up, and a most frenly conversation begun 


432 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

betwixt the two genlmin. Deuceace was quite captivating. 
He spoke to Mr. Dawkins in the most respeckful and flatrin 
manner, — agread in every think he said, — prazed his taste, his 
furniter, his coat, his classick nolledge, and his playin on the 
floot ; you’d have thought, to hear him, that such a polygon of 
exlens as Dawkins did not breath, — that such a modist, sinsear, 
honrabble genlmn as Deuceace was to be seen nowhere xcept 
in Pump Cort. Poor Daw was complitly taken in. My master 
said he’d introduce him to the Duke of Donci.ster, and heaven 
knows how many nobs more, till Dawkins was quite intawsicated 
with pleasyour. I know as a fac (and it pretty well shows the 
young genlmn’s carryter), that he went that very day and 
ordered 2 new coats, on porpos to be introjuiced to the lords in. 

But the best joak of all was at last. Singin, swagrin, and 
swarink — up stares came Mr. Dick Blewitt. He flung open 
Mr. Dawkin’s door, shouting out, Daw my old Buck, how are 
you ? ” when, all of a sudden, he sees Mr. Deuceace : his jor 
dropt, he turned chocky white, and then burnin red, and looked 
as if a stror would knock him down. “ My dear Mr. Blewitt,” 
says my master, smilin and offring his hand, “ how glad I am 
to see you. Mr. Dawkins and I were }ust talking about your 
pony ! Pray sit down.’’ 

Blewitt did ; and now was the question, who should sit the 
other out ; but law bless you ! Mr. Blewitt was no match for my 
master : all the time he was fidgetty, silent, and sulky ; on the 
contry, master was charmin. I never herd such a flo of conver- 
sation, or so many wittacisms as he uttered. At last, completely 
beat, Mr. Blewitt took his leaf ; that instant master followed 
him ; and passin his arm through that of Mr. Dick, led him into 
our chambers, and began talkin to him in the most affabl and 
affeekshnat manner. 

But Dick was too angry to listen ; at last, when master was 
telling him some long story about the Duke of Doncaster, 
Blewitt burst out — 

“ A plague on the Duke of Doncaster ! Come, come, Mr. 
Deuceace, don’t you be running your rigs upon me ; I ain’t the 
man to be bamboozl’d by long-winded stories about dukes and 
duchesses. You think I don’t know you ; every man knows 
you and your line of country. Yes, you’re after young Dawkins 

there, and think to pluck him ; but you sha’n’t, — no, by 

you sha’n’t.” (The reader must recklect that the oaths which 
interspussed Mr. B’s convysation I have left out.) Well, after 
he’d fired a wolley of ’em, Mr. Deuceace spoke as cool as 
possbill. 


THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCEACE. 


433 


“ Heark ye, Blewitt. I know you to be one of the most ii> 
fernal thieves and scoundrels unhung. If you attempt to hector 
with me, I will cane you ; if you want more, I’ll shoot you ; it 
you meddle between me and Dawkins, I will do both. I know 
your whole life, you miserable swindler and coward. I know 
you have already won two hundred pounds of this lad, and want- 
all. I will have half, or you never shall have a penny.” It’s 
quite true that master knew things ; but how was the wonder. 

I couldn’t see Mr. B.’s face during this dialogue, bein on 
the wrong side of the door ; but there was a considdrable paws 
after thuse complymints had passed between the two genlmn, 
— one walkin quickly up and down the room, — tother, angry and 
stupid, sittin down, and stampin with his foot. 

‘‘ Now listen to this, Mr. Blewitt,” continues master at last. 
“ If you’re quiet, you shall half this fellow’s money : but 
venture to win a shilling from him in my absence, or without 
my consent, and you do it at your peril.” 

“ Well, well, Mr. Deuceace,” cries Dick, “ it’s very hard, 
and I must say, not fair : the game was of my startin, and you’ve 
no right to interfere with my friend.” 

“ Mr. Blewitt, you are a fool ! You professed yesterday 
not to know this man, and I was obliged to find him out for 
myself. I should like to know by what law of honor I am 
bound to give him up to you ? ” 

It was charmin to hear this pair of raskles talking about 
honor. I declare I could have found it in my heart to warn young 
Dawkins of the precious way in which these chaps were going 
to serve him. But if they didn’t know what honor was, / did ; 
and never, never did I tell tails about my masters when in their 
sarvice — out, in cors, the hobligation is no longer binding. 

Well, the next day there was a gran dinner at our chambers. 
White soop, turbit, and lobstir sos ; saddil of Scoch muttn, 
grous, and M‘Arony ; wines, champagn, hock, maderia, a bottle 
of poart, and ever so many of clarrit. The compny presint was 
three ; wiz., the Honrabble A. P. Deuceace, R. Blewitt, and 
Mr. Dawkins, Exquires. My i, how we genlmn in the kitchin 
did enjy it. Mr. Blewittes man eat so much grous (when it 
was brot out of the parlor), that I reely thought he would be 
sik ; Mr. Dawkinses genlmn (who was only abowt 13 years of 
age) grew so il with M‘Arony and plumb-puddn, as to be 
obleeged to take sefral of Mr. D’s pils, which kild him. But 
this is all promiscuous : I an’t talkin of the survants now, but 
the masters. 

Would you bleeve it ? After dinner and praps 8 bottles of 


434 MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

wine between the 3, the genlm sat down toecarty. It’s a game 
where only 2 plays, and where, in coarse, when there’s only 3, 
one looks on. 

Fust, they playd crown pints, and a pound the bett. At 
this game they were wonderful equill ; and about supper-time 
(when grilled am, more champang, devld biskits, and other 
things, was brot in) the play stood thus : Mr. Dawkins had won 
2 pounds ; Mr. Blewitt, 30 shillings ; the Honrabble Mr. 
Deuceace having lost 3/. loj'. After the devvle and the sham- 
pang the play was a little higher. Now it was pound pints, and 
five pound the bet. I thought to be sure, after hearing the 
complymints between Blewitt and master in the morning, that 
now poor Dawkins’s time was come. 

Not so : Dawkins won always, Mr. B. betting on his play, 
and giving him the very best of advice. At the end of the 
evening (which was abowt five o’clock the nex morning) they 
stopt.. Master was counting up the skore on a card. 

“ Blewitt,” says he, “ I’ve been unlucky. I owe you — let 
me see — ^yes, five-and-forty pounds ? ” 

“ Five-and-forty,” said Blewitt, “ and no mistake ! ” 

“ I will give you a check,” says the honrabble genlmn. 

“ Oh ! don’t mention it, my dear sir ! ” But master got a 
great sheet of paper, and drew him a check on Messeers. Pump, 
Algit and Co., his bankers. 

“ Now,” says master, “ I’ve got to settle with you, my dear 
Mr. Dawkins. If you had backd your luck, I should have 
owed you a very handsome sum of money. Foyons, thirteen 
points at a pound — it is easy to calculate ; ” and drawin out his 
puss, he clinked over the table 13 goolden silverings, which 
shon till they made my eyes wink. 

So did pore Dawkinses, as he put out his hand, all trem- 
bling, and drew them in. 

“ Let me say,” added master, “ let me say (and I’ve had 
some little experience), that you are the very best Scarte player 
with whom I ever sat down.” 

Dawkinses eyes glissened as he put the money up, and said, 
“ Law, Deuceace, you flatter me.” 

Flatter him ! I should think he did. It was the very think 
which master ment. 

“ But mind you, Dawkins,” continyoud he, “ I must have my 
revenge ; for I’m ruined — positively ruined — by your luck.” 

“ Well, well,” says Mr. Thomas Smith Dawkins, as pleased 
as if ye had gained a millium, “ shall it be to-morrow ? Blewitt, 
what say you ? ” • 


THE AMOURS OF MR, DEUCE ACE, 


435 


Mr. Blewitt agreed, in course. My master, after a little 
demurring, consented too. “ We’ll meet,” says he, “ at your 
chambers. But my dear fello, not too much wine : I can’t 
stand it at any time, especially when I have to play ecarfe with 
you.'*^ 

Pore Dawkins left our rooms as happy as a prins. “ Here, 
Charles,” says he, and flung me a sovring. Pore fellow ! pore 
fellow ! I knew what was a-comin ! 

But the best of it was, that these 13 sovrings which Dawkins 
won, master had hor?'owed them from Mr, Blewitt ! I brought 
’em with 7 more, from that young genlmn’s chambers that very 
morning : for since his interview with master, Blewitt had 
nothing to refuse him. 

Well, shall I continue the tail ? If Mr. Dawkins had been 
the least bit wiser, it would have taken him six months befoar 
he lost his money ; as it was, he was such a confunded ninny, 
that it took him a very short time to part with it. 

Next day (it was Thursday, and master’s acquaintance with 
Mr. Dawkins had only commenced on Tuesday), Mr. Dawkins, 
as I said, gev his party, — dinner at 7. Mr. Blewitt and the 
two Mr. D.’s as befoar. Play begins at 11. This time I knew 
the business was pretty serious, for we suvvants w^as packed off 
to bed at 2 o’clock. On Friday, I went to chambers — no mas- 
ter — he kem in for 5 minutes at about 12, made a little toilit, 
ordered more devvles and soda-water, and back again he went 
to Mr. Dawkins’s. 

They had dinner there at 7 again, but nobody seamed to 
eat, for all the vittles came out to us genlmn : they had in 
more wine though, and must have drunk at least two dozen in 
the 36 hours. 

At ten o’clock, however, on Friday night, back my master 
came to his chambers. I saw him as I never saw him before, 
namly reglar drunk. He staggered about the room, he danced, 
he hickipd, he swoar, he flung me a heap of silver, and finely, 
he sunk down exosted on his bed ; I pullin off his boots and 
close, and making him comfrable. 

Wdien I had removed his garmints, I did what it’s the duty 
of every servant to do — I emtied his pockits, and looked at his 
pockit-book and all his letters : a number of axdents have 
been prevented that way. 

I found there, among a heap of things, the following pretty 
dock3n'nent : — 


436 THE MEMOIRS OE MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 


1 . O. U. 

;£‘47oo. 

Thomas Smith Dawkins 
Friday., 16 fk yanuary. 


There was another bit of paper of the same kind — “ I. O. 
U. four hundred pounds : Richard Blewitt : ” but this, in corse, 
ment nothink. 

* * * * * 

Nex momin, at nine, master was up, and as sober as a judg. 
He drest, and was off to Mr. Dawkins. At ten, he ordered a 
cab, and the two gentlmn went together. 

“ Where shall he drive, sir ? ” says I. 

“ Oh, tell him to drive to the Bank.” 

Pore Dawkins ! his eyes red with remors and sleepliss 
drunkeniss, gave a shudder and a sob, as he sunk back in the 
wehicle ; and they drove on. 

That day he sold out every hapny he was worth, xcept five 
hundred pounds. 

* * * * * 

Abowt 12 master had returned, and Mr. Dick Blewitt came 
stridin up the stairs with a solium and important hair. 

“ Is your master at home ? ” says he. 

“ Yes, sir,” says I ; and in he walks. I, in coars, with my 
ear to the keyhole, listning with all my mite. 

^‘Well,” says Blewitt, “we maid a pretty good night of it, 
Mr. Deuceace. Yu’ve settled, I see, with Dawkins.” 

“ Settled ! ” says master. “ Oh, yes — ^yes — I’ve settled with 
him.” 

“ Four thousand seven hundred, I think } ” 

“ About that — ^yes.” 

“ That makes my share — let me see — two thousand three 
hundred and fifty ; which I’ll thank you to fork out.” 

“ Upon my word — why — Mr. Blewitt,” says master, “ I don’t 
really understand what you mean.” 

“ Vo?/ don't know what I mea7t F' says Blewitt, in an axent 
such as I never before heard. “You don’t know what I mean! 
Did you not promise me that we were to go shares ? Didn’t I 
lend you twenty sovereigns the other night to pay our losings 
to Dawkins I Didn’t you swear, on your honor as a gentle- 
man, to give me half of all that might be won in this affair ? ” 


PORING PARTS. 


437 


Agreed, sir,” says Deuceace ; “ agreed.” 

“ Well, sir, and now what have you to say ? ” 

Why, that I don't intend to keep my promise I You infernal 
fool and ninny ! do you suppose I was laboring for you t Do 
you fancy I was going to the expense of giving a dinner to 
that jackass yonder, that you should profit by it 1 Get away, 
sir ! Leave the room, sir ! Or, stop — here — I will give you 
four hundred pounds — your own note of hand, sir, for that sum, 
if you will consent to forget all that has passed between us, 
and that you have never known Mr. Algernon Deuceace.” 

I’ve seen pipple angeiy’^ before now, but never any like 
Blewitt. He stormed, groaned, helloed, swoar ! At last, he 
fairly began blubbring ; now cussing and nashing his teeth, now 
praying dear Mr. Deuceace to grant him mercy. 

At last, master flung open the door (heaven bless us ! it’s 
well I didn’t tumble hed over eels into the room !), and said, 
“ Charles, show the gentleman down stairs ! ” My master looked 
at him quite steddy. Blewitt slunk down, as misrabble as any 
man I ever see. As for Dawkins, heaven knows where he was. 
****** 

Charles,” says my master to me, about an hour afterwards, 
I’m going to Paris ; you may come, too, if you please.” 


PORING PARTS. 


It was a singular proof of my master’s modesty, that though 
he had won this andsome sum of Mr. Dawkins, and was inclined 
to be as extravygant and osntatious as any man I ever seed, 
yet, when he determined on going to Paris, he didn’t let a 
single frend know of all them winnings of his ; didn’t acquaint 
my Lord Crabs his father, that he was about to leave his natiff 
shoars — neigh — didn’t even so much as call together his trades- 
min, and pay off their little bills befor his departure. 

On the contry, “ Chawles,” said he to me, “ stick a piece of 
paper on my door,” which is the way that lawyers do, “ and 
write ‘ Back at seven ’ upon it.” Back at seven I wrote, and 
stuck it on our outer oak. And so mistearus was Deuceace 
about his continental tour (to all except me), that' when the 


438 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOIVPLUSH. 

landriss brought him her account for the last month (amountain, 
at the very least, to 2/. ioj.), master told her to leave it till 
Monday morning, when it should be properly settled. It’s 
extrodny how ickonomical a man becomes, when he’s got five 
thousand lbs. in his pockit. 

Back at 7 indeed ! At 7 we were a-roalin on the Dover 
Road, in the Reglator Coach — master inside, me out. A 
strange company of people there was, too, in that wehicle, — 3 
sailors ; an Italyin with his music-box and munky ; a missionary, 
going to convert the heathens in France ; 2 oppra girls (they 
call ’em figure-aunts), and the figure-aunts’ mothers inside ; 4 
Frenchmin, with gingybred caps and mustaches, singing, chat- 
tering, and jestiklating in the most vonderful vay. Such com- 
pliments as passed between them and the figure-aunts ! such a 
munshin of biskits and sippin of brandy ! such “ O mong Jews,” 
and “ O sacrrres,” and “ kill fay frwaws ! ” I didn’t understand 
their languidge at that time, so of course can’t igsplain’ much 
of their conwersation ; but it pleased me, nevertheless, for now 
I felt that I was reely going into foring parts : which, ever sins 
I had had any edication at all, was always my fondest wish. 
Heavin bless us ! thought I, if these are specimeens of all 
Frenchmen, what a set they must be. The pore Italyin’s 
monky, sittin mopin and meluncolly on his box, was not half 
so ugly, and seamed quite as reasonabble. 

Well, we arrived at Dover — “ Ship Hotel ” — weal cutlets 
half a ginny, glas of ale a shilling, glas of neagush, half-a-crownd, 
a hapny-worth of wax-lites four shillings, and so on. But 
master paid without grumbling ; as long as it was for himself 
he never minded the expens ; and nex day we embarked in the 
packit for Balong sir-mare — which means in French, the town 
of Balong sityouated on the sea. I who had heard of foring 
wonders, expected this to be the fust and greatest : phansy, 
then, my disapintment, when we got there, to find this Balong, 
not situated on the sea, but on the shoar. 

But oh ! the gettin there was the bisniss. How I did wish 
for Pump Court agin, as we were tawsing abowt in the Channel ! 
Gentle reader, av you ever been on the otion ? — “ The sea, the 
sea, the open sea ! ” as Barry Cromwell says. As soon as we 
entered our little wessel, and I’d looked to master’s luggitch 
and mine (mine was rapt up in a very small hankercher), as 
soon, I say, as we entered our little wessel, as soon as I saw the 
waives, black and frothy, like fresh drawn porter, a-dashin 
against the ribs of our galliant bark, the keal like a wedge, 
splittin the billoes in two, the sales a-flafiin in the hair, the 


FORING FARTS. 


439 


Standard of Hengland floating at the mask-head, the steward 
a-getting ready the basins and things, the capting proudly tred- 
ding the deck and giving orders to the salers, the white rox of 
Albany and the bathin-masheens disappearing in the distans — 
then, then I felt, for the first time, the mite, the madgisty of 
existence. “ Yellowplush my boy,” said I, in a dialogue with 
myself, “ your life is now about to commons — ^your carear, as a 
man, dates from your entrans on board this packit. Be wise, 
be manly, be cautious, forgit the follies of your youth. You are 
no longer a boy now, but a footman. Throw down your tops, 
your marbles, your boyish games — throw off your childish 

babbits with your inky clerk’s jackit — throw up your ” 

***** 

Here, I recklect, I was obleeged to stopp. A fealin, in the 
fust place singlar, in the next place painful, and at last com- 
pleatly overpowering, had come upon me while I was making 
the abuff speach, and now I found myself in a sityouation which 
Dellixy for Bids me to describe. Suffls to say, that now I dix- 
covered what basins was made for — that for many, many hours, 
I lay in a hagony of exostion, dead to all intense and purposes, 
the rain pattering in my face, the salers tramplink over my body 
—the panes of purgatory going on inside. , When we’d been 
about four hours in this sityouation (it seam’d to me four ears), 
the steward comes to that part of the deck where we servants 
were all huddled up together, and calls out “ Charles ! ” 

“Well,” says I, gurgling out a faint “yes, what’s the 
matter ? ” 

“ You’re wanted.’ 

“ Where .? ” 

“ Your master’s wery ill,” says he, with a grin. 

“ Master be hanged ! ” says I, turning round, more misrable 
than ever. I woodn’t have moved that day for twenty thousand 
masters — no, not for the Empror of Russia or the Pop of 
Room. 

Well, to cut this sad subjick short, many and many avoyitch 
have I sins had upon what Shakspur calls the “ wasty dip,” but 
never such a retched one as that from Dover to Balong, in the 
year Anna Domino i8t8. Steemers were scarce in those days ; 
and our journey was made in a smack. At last, when I was in 
a stage of despare and exostion, as reely to phansy myself at 
Death’s doar, we got to the end of our journey. Late in the 
evening we hailed the Gaelic shears, and hankered in the arbor 
of Balong sir-mare. 

It was the entrans of Parrowdice to me and master : and as 


440 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

we entered the calm water, and saw the comfrabble Hghts 
gleaming in the houses, and felt the roal of the vessel degreas- 
ing, never was two mortials gladder, I warrant, than we were. 
At length our capting drew up at the key, and our journey was 
down. But such a bustle and clatter, such jabbering, such 
shrieking and swaring, such wollies of oafs and axicrations as 
saluted us on landing, I never knew ! ,AVe were boarded, in the 
fust place, by custom-house officers in cock-hats, who seased 
our luggitch, and called for our passpots ; then a crowd of inn- 
waiters came, tumbling and screaming on deck — “ Dis way, 
sare,” cries one; “Hotel Meurice,” says another; “Hotel de 
Bang,” screeches Another chap — the tower of Babyle was 
nothink to it. The fust thing that struck me on landing was a 
big fellow with earrings, who very nigh knock me down, in 
wrenching master’s carpet-bag out of my hand, as I was cariy’- 
ing it to the hotell. But we got to it safe at last ; and, for the 
fust time in my life, I slep in a foring country. 

I sha’n’t describe this town of Balong, which, as it has been 
visited by not less (on an avaridg) than two milliums of English 
since I fust saw it twenty years ago, is tolrabbly well known 
already. It’s a dingy mellumcolly place, to my mind ; the only 
thing moving in the streets is the gutter which runs down ’em. 
As for wooden shoes, I saw few of ’em ; and for frogs, upon my 
honor I never see a single Frenchman swallow one, which I had 
been led to beleave was their reg’lar, though beastly, custom. 
One thing which amazed me was the singlar name which they 
give to this town of Balong. It’s divided, as every boddy 
knows, into an upper town (sityouate on a mounting, and sur- 
rounded by a wall, or bullyvar) and a lower town, which is on 
the level of the sea. Well, will it be believed that they call the 
upper town the Hot Veal, and the other the Base Veal, which is 
on the contiy, genrally good in France, though the beaf, it must 
be contest, is exscrabble. 

It was in the Base Veal that Deuceace took his lodgian, at 
the Hotel de Bang, in a very crooked street called the Rue del 
Ascew ; and if he’d been the Archbishop of Devonshire, or the 
Duke of Canterbury, he could not have given himself greater 
hairs, I can tell you. Nothing was too fine for us now; we 
had a sweet of rooms on the first floor, which belonged to the 
prime minister of France (at least the landlord said they were 
the premier’s) ; and the Hon. Algernon Percy Deuceace, who 
had not paid his landriss, and came to Dover in a coach, 
seamed now to think that goold was too vulgar for him, and a 
carridge and six would break down with a man of his weight 


PORING PARTS. 


441 


Champang flew about like ginger-pop, besides bordo, clarit, 
burgundy, burgong, and other wines, and- all the delixes of the 
Balong kitchins. We stopped a fortnit at this dull place, and 
did nothing from morning till night excep walk on the beach, 
and watch the ships going in and out of arber, with one of 
them long, sliding opra-glasses, which they call, I don’t know 
why, tallow-scoops. Our amusements for the fortnit we stopped 
here were boath numerous and daliteful ; nothink, in fact, could 
be more pickong, as they say. In the morning before break- 
fast we boath walked on the Peer ; master in a blue mareen 
jackit, and me in a slap-up new livry ; both provided with long 
sliding opra-glasses, called as I said (I don’t know Y, but I 
suppose it’s a scientafick term) tallow-scoops. With these we 
igsamined, very attentively, the otion, the sea-weed, the peb- 
bles, the dead cats, the fishwimmin, and the waives (like little 
children playing at leap-frog), which came tumbling over i an- 
other on to the shoar. It seemed to me as if they were scram- 
bling to get there, as well they might,- being sick of the sea, 
and anxious for the blessid, peaceable terry Jinny. 

After brexfast, down we went again (that is, master on his 
beat, and me on mine, — for my place in this foring town was a 
complete shinycure), and putting our tally-scoops again in our 
eyes, we egsamined a little more the otion, pebbils, dead cats, 
and so on ; and this lasted till dinner, and dinner till bed-time, 
and bed-time lasted till nex day, when came brexfast, and din- 
ner, and tally-scooping, as before. This is the way with all 
people of this town, of which, as I’ve heard say, there is ten 
thousand happy English, who lead this plesnt life from year’s 
end to year’s end. 

Besides this, there’s billiards and gambling for the gentle- 
men, a little dancing for the gals, and scandle for the dowy- 
gers. In none of these amusements did we partake. We were 
a little too good to play crown pints at cards, and never get 
paid when we won ; or to go dangling after the portionless 
gals, or amuse ourselves with slops and pe/my-wist aloitg with 
the old ladies. No, no ; my master was a man of fortn now, and 
behaved himself as sich. If ever he condysended to go into 
the pilblic room of the Hotel de Bang — the French (doubtless 
for reasons best known to themselves) call this a sallymanjy — 
he swoar more and lowder than any one there ; he abyoused 
the waiters, the wittles, the wines. With his glas in his i, he 
staired at everybody. He took always the place before the 
fire. He talked about “ my carridge,” “my currier,” “my ser- 
vant ; ” and he did wright. I’ve always found through life, that 


442 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. , 


if you wish to be respected by English people, you must be in« 
salent to them, especially if you are a sprig of nobiliaty. We 
like being insulted by noblemen, — it shows they’re familiar with 
us. Law bless us ! I’ve known many and many a genlmn 
about town who’d rather be kicked by a lord than not be no- 
ticed by him ; they’ve even had an aw of me^ because I was a 
lord’s footman. While my master was hectoring in the parlor, 
at Balong, pretious airs I gave myself in the kitching, I can tell 
you ; and the consequints was, that we were better served, and 
moar liked, than many pipple with twice our merit. 

Deuceace had some particklar plans, no doubt, which kep 
him so long at Balong ; and it clearly was his wish to act the 
man of fortune there for a little time before he tried the char- 
acter of Paris. He purchased a carridge, he hired a currier, 
he rigged me in a fine new livry blazin with lace, and he past 
through the Balong bank a thousand pounds of the money he 
had won from Dawkins, to his credit at a Paris house ; showing 
the Balong bankers at the same time, that he’d plenty moar in 
his potfolie. This was killin two birds with one stone ; the 
bankers’ clerks spread the nuse over the town, and in a day 
after master had paid the money every old dowyger in Balong 
had looked out the Crabs’ family podigree in the Peeridge, and 
was quite intimate with the Deuceace name and estates. If 
Sattn himself were a lord, I do beleave there’s many vurtuous 
English mothers would be glad to have him for a son-in-law. 

Now, though my master had thought fitt to leave town with- 
out excommunicating with his father on the subject of his 
intended continental tripe, as soon as he was settled at Balong 
he roat my Lord Crabbs a letter, of which I happen to have a 
copy, ^t ran thus : — 

Boulogne, January 25. 

“ My DEAR Father, — I have_ long, in the course of my legal studies, found the neces- 
sity of a knowledge of French, in which language, all the early history of our profession is 
written, and have determined to take a little relaxation from chamber reading, which has 
seriously injured my health. If my modest finances can bear a two months* journey, and 
a residence at Paris, I propose to remain there that period. 

“ Will you have the kindness to send me a letter of introduction to Lord Bobtail, our 
ambassador? My name, and your old friendship with him, I know would secure me a re- 
ception at his house ; but a pressing letter from yourself would at once be more courteous, 
and more effectual. 

“ May I also ask you for my last quarter’s salary? I am not an expensive man, my 
dear father, as you know but we are no chameleons, and fifty pounds (with my little earn- 
ings in my profession) would vastly add to the agrhnens of my continental excursion. 

“ Present my love to all my brothers and sisters. Ah ! how I wish the hard portion of 
a younger son had not been mine, and that ’I could live without the dire necessity for labor, 
happy among the rural scenes of my childhood, and in the society of my dear feisters and 
you! Heaven bless you, dearest father, and all those beloved ones now dwelling under 
the dear old roof at Sizes. 

“ Ever your affectionate son, 

, Algernon. 

‘ The Right Hon. the Earl of Crahs^ &*c, 

“ Sizes Courts Bucks** 


PORING PARTS. 


443 

To this affeckshnat letter his lordship replied, by return of 
poast, as folios : — 

“ My dear Algernon, — Your letter came safe to hand, and I enclose you the letter 
for Lord Bobtail as you desire. He is a kind man, and has one of the best cooks in 
Europe. 

“We were all charmed with your warm remembrance of us, not having seen you for 
seven years. We cannot but be pleased at the family affection which, in spite of time and 
absence, still clings so fondly to home. It is a sad, selfish world, and very few who have 
entered it can afford to keep those fresh feelings which you have, my dear son'. 

“ May you long retain them, is a fond father’s earnest prayer. Be sure, dear Algernon, 
that they will be through life your greatest comfort, as well as your best wordly ally ; con- 
soling you in misfortune, cheering you in depression, aiding and inspiring you to exertion 
and success. 

“ I am sorry, truly sorry, that my account at Coutts’ is so low, just now, as to render a 
payment of your allowance for the present impossible. I see by my book that I owe you 
now nine quarters, or 450A Depend on it, my dear boy, that they shall be faithfully paid 
over to you on the first opportunity. 

“ By the way, 1 have enclosed some extracts from the newspitpers, Which may interest 
you : and have received a very strange letter from a Mr. Blewitt, about a play transaction, 
which, I suppose, is the case alluded to in these prints. He says you won 4700/. from one 
Dawkins ; that the lad paid it ; that he, Blewitt, was to go what he calls ‘ snacks’ in the 
winning ; but that you refused to share the booty. How can you, my dear boy, quarrel 
with these vulgar people, or lay yourself in any way open to their attacks ? I have played 
myself a good deal, and there is no man living who can accuse me of a doubtful act. You 
should either have shot this Blewitt or paid him. Now, as the matter stands, it is too late 
to do the former ; and, perhaps, it would be Quixotic to perform the latter. My dearest 
boy ! recollect through life thatyori never can afford to be dishonest ivith a rogue. Four 
thousand seven hundred pounds was a great coup., to be sure. 

“ As you are nowin such high feather, can you, dearest Algernon! lend me five hun- 
dred pounds ? Upon my soul and honor, I will repay you. Your brothers and sisters send 
you their love. I need not add, that you have always the blessings of your affectionate 
lather, 

“ Crabs.” 

“ P. S. — Make it 500, and I will give you my note-of-hand for a thousand.” 

***** 

I needn’t say that this did not quite enter into Deuceace’s 
eyedears. Lend his father 500 pound, indeed ! He’d as soon 
have lent him a box on the year ! In the fust place, he hadn 
seen old Crabs for seven years, as that nobleman remarked in his 
epistol ; in the secknd he hated him, and they hated each other ; 
and nex, if master had loved his father ever so much, he loved 
somebody else better — his father’s son, namely : and sooner 
than deprive that exlent young man of a penny, he’d have sean 
all the fathers in the world hangin at Newgat, and all the 
“ beloved ones,” as he called his sisters, the Lady Deuceacis- 
ses, so many convix at Bottomy Bay. 

The newspaper parrografs showed that, however secret we 
wished to keep the play transaction, the public knew it now 
full well. Blewitt, as I found after, was the author of the libels 
which appeared right and left ; 

“ Ga.mbling in High Life : — the H onorable Mr. De — c — ce again! — This celebrated 
whist-player has turned his accomplishments to some profit. On Friday, the i6th January, 
he won five thousand pounds from a very young gentleman, Th — m — s Sm — th D wk*— ns, 
F.sq., and lost two thousand five hundred to R. B 1 — w — tt. Esq., of the F — mple. Mi. D. 
very honorably paid the sum lost by him to the honorable whist-player, but we have no| 
board that before his sudden trip to Paris, Mr. D— uc— ce paid his losings to Mn 
^ Bl— w-tt. ’ 


444 MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSIT, 

Nex came a “ Notice to Corryspondents : ” 

“Fair Play asks us, if we know of the gambling doings of the notorious Deuceace ? We 
answer, We do ; and, in our very next Number, propose to make some of them public/’ 

# * * * * 

They didn’t appear, however \ but, on the contry, the very 

same newspeper, which had been before so abusiff of Deuceace, 
was now loud in his praise. It said : 

“ A paragraph was inadvertently admitted into our paper of last week, most unjustly 
assailing the character of a gentleman of high birth and talents, the son of the exemplary 
E — rl of Cr — bs. We repel, with scorn and indignation, the dastardly falsehoods of the 
malignant slanderer who vilified Mr, De — ce— ce, and beg to offer that gentleman the 
only reparation in our power for having thus tampered with his unsullied name. We dis- 
believe the ruffian and his story, and most sincerely regret that such a tale, or such a 
writer, should ever have been brought forward to the readers of this paper.” 

This was satisfactory, and no mistake : and much pleased 
we were at the denial of this conshentious editor. So much 
pleased that master sent him a ten-pound noat, and his com- 
plymints. He’d sent another to the same address, before this 
parrowgraff was printed ; why, I can’t think : for I woodn’t 
suppose anything musnary in a littery man. 

Well, after this bisniss was concluded, the currier hired, the 
carridge smartened a little, and me set up in my new livries, we 
bade ojew to Bulong in the grandest state posbill. What 
a figure we cut ! and, my i, what a figger the postilion cut ! A 
cock-hat, a jackit made out of a cow’s skin (it was in cold 
weather), a pig-tale about 3 fit in length, and a pair of boots I 
Oh, sich a pare ! A bishop might almost have preached out of 
one, or a modrat-sized famly slep in it. Me and Mr, Schwig- 
shhnaps, the currier, sate behind in the rumbill ; master aloan 
in the inside, as grand as a Turk, and rapt up in his fine 
hr-cloak. Off we sett, bowing gracefly to the crowd ; the 
harniss-bells jinglin, the great white bosses snortin, kickin, and 
squeelin, and the postilium cracking his whip, as loud as if he’d 
been drivin her majesty the quean. 

***** 

Well, I sha’n’t describe our voyitch. We paased sefral 
sitties, willitches, and metrappolishes ; sleeping the fust night 
at Amiens, which, as everyboddy knows, is famous ever since 
the year 1802 for what's called the Pease of Amiens. We had 
some, very good, done with sugar and brown sos, in the Amiens 
way. But after all the boasting about them, I tliink I like our 
marrowphats better. 

Speaking of wedgytables, another singler axdent happened 
here concarning them. Master, who was brexfasting before 


MR. DEUCE ACE A T PARIS. 


445 

going away, told me to go and get him his fur travling-shoes. 
I w'ent and toald the waiter of the inn, who stared, grinned 
(as these chaps always do), said “ Bong ” (which means, very 
well), and presently came back. 

Bm blest if he didn't bring master a plate of cabbitcli f Would 
you bleave it, that now, in the nineteenth sentry, when they say 
there’s schoolmasters abroad, these stewpid French jackasses 
are so extonishingly ignorant as to call a cabbidge a shoo! 
Never, never let it be said, after this, that these benighted, 
souperstitious, misrabble savidges^ are equill, in any respex, to 
the great British people. The moor I travvle, the moor I see 
of the world, and other natiums, I am proud of my own, and 
despise and deplore the retchid ignorance of the rest of 
Yourup. 

***** 

My remarks on Parris you shall have by an early oppor- 
tunity. Me and Deuceace played some curious pranx there, I 
can tell you. 


MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS. 

Chap. I. — The Two Bundles of Hay. 

Lieutenant-General Sir George Griffin, K.C.B., was 
about seventy-five years old when he left this life, and the East 
Ingine army, of which he was a distinguished ornyment. Sir 
George’s first appearance in In jar was in the character of a 
cabbingboy to a vessel ; from which he rose to be clerk to the 
owners at Calcutta, from which he became all of a sudden a 
capting in the Company’s service ; and so rose and rose, until 
he rose to be a leftenant-general, when he stopped rising alto- 
gether — hopping the twig of this life, as drummers, generals, 
dustmen, and emperors must do. 

Sir George did not leave any mal hair to perpetuate the 
name of Griffin. A widow of about twenty-seven, and a 
daughter avaritching twenty-three, was left behind to deploar 
his loss, and share his proppaty. On old Sir George’s deth, 
his interesting widdo and orfan, who had both been with him in 
Injer, returned home — tried London for a few months did not 

29 


446 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C J. YELLOIVPLUSH. 

like it, and resolved on a trip to Paris ; where very small Lon- 
don people become very great ones, if they’ve money, as these 
Griffinses had. The intelligent reader need not be told that 
Miss Griffin was not the daughter of Lady Griffin ; for though 
marritches are made tolrabbly early in Injer, people are not 
quite so precoashoos as all that : the fact is, Lady G. was Sir 
George’s second wife. I need scarcely add, that Miss Matilda 
Griffin wos the offspring of his fust marritch. 

Miss Leonora Kicksey, a ansum, lively Islington gal, taken 
out to Calcutta, and, amongst his other goods, very comfortably 
disposed of by her uncle. Captain Kicksey, was one-and-twenty 
when she married Sir George at seventy-one ; and the 13 Miss 
Kickseys, nine of whom kep a school at Islington (the other 4 
being married variously in the city), w'ere not a little envius of 
my lady’s luck, and not a little proud of their relationship to 
her. One of ’em. Miss Jemima Kicksey, the oldest, and by no 
means the least ugly of the sett, was staying with her ladyship, 
and gev me all the partecklars. Of the rest of the famly, being 
of a lo sort, I in course no nothink ; my acquaintance, thank 
my stars, don’t lie among them, or the likes of them. 

Well, this Miss Jemima lived with her younger and more 
fortnat sister, in the qualaty of companion, or toddy. Poar 
thing ! I’d a soon be a gaily slave, as lead the life she did ! 
Everybody in the house despised her ; her ladysjiip insulted 
her ; the very kitchen gals scorned and flouted her. She roat 
the notes, she kep the bills, she made the tea, she whipped the 
chocklate, she cleaned the canary birds, and gev out the linning 
for the wash. She was my lady’s walking pocket, or rettycule ; 
and fetched and carried her handkercher, or her smell-bottle, 
like a well-bred spaniel. All night, at her ladysliip’s swarries, 
she thumped kid rills (nobody ever thought of asking her to 
dance !) ; when Miss Griffing sung, she played the piano, and 
was scolded because the singer was out of tune ; abommanating 
dogs, she never drove out without her ladyship’s puddle in her 
lap ; and, reglarly unwell in a carriage, she never got anything 
but the back seat. Poar Jemima ! I can see her now in my 
lady’s seknd-best old clothes (the ladies’-maids always got the 
prime leavings) : a liloc sattn gown, crumpled, blotched, and 
greasy; a pair of white sattn shoes, of the color of Inger 
rubber ; a faded yellow velvet hat, with a wreath of hartifishl 
flowers rim to seed, and a bird of Parrowdice perched on the 
top of it, melumcolly and moulting, with only a couple of 
feathers left in his unfortunate tail. 

Besides this ornyment to their saloon. Lady and Miss 


MA\ DEUCEACE AT EA E/S, 


447 


Gr'ffin kept a number of other servants in the kitchen ; 2 ladies’- 
inaids ; 2 footmin, six feet high each, crimson coats, goold 
knots, and white cassymear pantyloons ; a coachmin to match ; 
a page : and a Shassure, a kind of servant only known among 
forriners, and who looks more like a major-general than any 
other mortial, wearing a cock-hat, a unicorn covered with silver 
lace, mustashos, eplets, and a sword by his side. #A11 these to 
wait upon two ladies ; not counting a host of the fair sex, such 
as cooks, scullion, housekeepers, and so forth. 

My Lady Griffin’s lodging was at forty pound a week, in a 
grand sweet of rooms in the Plas Vandome at Paris. And, 
having thus described their house, and their servants’ hall, I 
may give a few words of description concerning the ladies 
themselves. 

In the fust place, and in coarse, they hated each other. My 
lady was twenty-seven — a widdo of two years — fat, fair, and 
rosy. A slow, quiet, cold-looking woman, as those fair-haired 
gals generally are, it seemed difficult to rouse her either into 
likes or dislikes ; to the former, at least. She never loved any- 
body but ofie, and that was herself. She hated, in her calm, 
quiet way, almost every one else w’ho came near her — every 
one, from her neighbor the duke, who had slighted her at din- 
ner, down to John the footman, who had torn a hole in her 
train. I think this woman’s heart was like one of them litho- 
graffic stones, you can't rub out anything when once it’s drawn 
or wrote on it ; nor could you out of her ladyship’s stone — 
heart, I mean — in the shape of an affront, a slight, or real or 
phansied injury. She boar an exlent, irreprotchable character, 
against which the tongue of scandal never wagged. She was 
allowed to be the best wife posbill — and so she was ; but she 
killed her old husband in two years, as dead as ever Mr. 
Thurtell killed Mr. William Weare. She never got into a 
passion, not she— she never said a rude word ; but she’d a 
genius — a genius which many women have — of making a hell of 
a house, and tort’ring the poor creatures of her family, until 
they were wellnigh drove mad. 

Miss Matilda Griffin was a good deal uglier, and about as 
amiable as her mother-in-law. She was crooked, and squinted; 
mv lady, to do her justice, was straight, and looked the same 
way with her i’s. She was dark, and my lady was fair — senti- 
mental, as her ladyship was cold. My lady was never in a 
passion — Miss Matilda always ; and awhile were the scenes 
which used to pass between these women, and the wickid, 
wickid quarls which took place. Why did they live together 't 


44 $ the memoirs OF MR. C- J. VELLOWPIMSH, 

There was the mistry. Not related, and hating each other like 
pison, it would surely have been easier to remain seprat, and 
so have detested each other at a distans. 

As for the fortune which old Sir George had left, that, it 
was clear, was very considrabble — 300 thousand lb. at the least, 
as I have heard say. But nobody knew how it was disposed of. 
Some said tj^at her ladyship was sole mistriss of it, others that it 
was divided, others that she had only a life inkum, and that the 
money was all to go (as was natral) to Miss Matilda. These 
are subjix which are not praps very interesting to the British 
public, but were mighty important to my master, the Honrable 
Algernon Percy Deuceace, esquire, barrister-at-law, etsettler, 
etsettler. 

For I’ve forgot to inform you that my master was very in- 
timat in this house ; and that we were now comfortably settled 
at the Hotel Mirabew (pronounced Marobo in French), in the 
Rew delly Pay, at Paris. We had our cab, and two riding 
horses ; our banker’s book, and a thousand pound for a balantz 
at Lafitt’s ; our club at the corner of the Rew Gramong ; our 
share in a box at the oppras ; our apartments, spacious and 
elygant ; our swarries at court ; our dinners at his excellency 
Lord Bobtail’s and elsewhere. Thanks to poar Dawkins’s five 
thousand pound, we were as complete gentlemen as any in 
Paris. 

Now my master, like a wise man as he was, seaing himself 
at the head of a smart sum of money, and in a country where 
his debts could not bother him, determined to give up for the 
present everythink like gambling — at least, high play ; as for 
losing or winning a ralow of Napoleums at whist or ecarty, it 
did not matter: it looks like money to do such things, and 
gives a kind of respectabilaty. “ But as for play, he wouldn’t 
— oh no ! not for worlds ! — do such a thing.” He had played, 
like other young men of fashn, and won and lost [old fox ! he 
didn’t say he had paid] ; but he had given up the amusement, 
and was now determined, he said, to live on his inkum. The 
fact is, my master was doing his very best to act the re- 
spectable man : and a very good game it is, too j but it requires 
a precious great roag to play it. 

He made his appearans reglar at church — me carrying a 
handsome large black marocky Prayer-book and Bible, with the 
psalms and lessons marked out with red ribbings ; and you’d 
have thought, as I graivly laid the volloms down before him, and 
as he berried his head in his nicely brushed hat, before ser- 
vice began, that such a pious, proper, morl, young nobleman 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


449 

was not to be found in the whole of the peeridge. It was a 
comfort to look at him. Efry old tabby and dowyger at my 
Lord Bobtail’s turned up the wights of their i’s when they spoke 
of him, and vowed they had never seen such a dear, daliteful, 
exlent young man. What a good son he must be, they said ; 
and oh, what a good son-in-law ! He had the pick of all the 
English gals at Paris before we had been there 3 months. But, 
unfortunately, most of them were poar ; and love and a cottidge 
was not quite in master’s way of thinking. 

Well, about this time my Lady Griffin and Miss G. made 
their appearants at Parris, and master, who was up to snough, 
very soon changed his noat. He sate near them at chappie, 
and sung hims with my lady : he danced with ’em at the em- 
bassy balls ; he road with them in the Boy de Balong and the 
Shandeleasies (which is the French High Park) ; he roat potry 
in Miss Griffin’s halbim, and sang jewets along with her and 
Lady Griffin ; he brought sweat meats for the puddle-dog ; he 
gave money to the footmin, kisses and gloves to the sniggering 
ladies’-maids ; he was sivvle even to poar Miss Kicksey ; there 
wasn’t a single soal at the Griffinses that didn’t adoar this good 
young man. 

The ladies, if they hated befoar, you may be sure detested each 
other now wuss than ever. There had been always a jallowsy be- 
tween them : miss jellows of her mother-in-law’s bewty ; madam 
of miss’s espree ; miss taunting my lady about the school at 
Islington, and my lady snearing at miss for her squint and her 
crookid back. And now came a stronger eaws. They both 
fell in love with Mr. Deuceace — my lady, that is to sa)% as 
much as she could, with her cold selfish temper. She liked 
Deuceace, who amused her and made her laff. She liked his 
manners, his riding, and his good loox ; and being a pervinew 
herself had a dubble respect for real aristocratick flesh and 
blood. Miss’s love, on the contry, was all flams and fury. 
She’d always been at this work from the time she had been at 
school, where she very nigh run away with a Frentch master ; 
next with a footman (which I may say, in confidence, is by no 
means unnatral or unusyouall, as I could show if / liked) \ and 
so had been going on sins fifteen. She reglarly flung herself 
at Deuceace’s head — such sighing, crying, and ogling, I never 
see. Often was I ready to bust out laffin, as I brought master 
skoars of rose-colored billy doos, folded up like cock-hats, and 
smellin like barber’s shops, which this very tender young lady 
used to address to him. Now, though master was a scoundrill 
and no mistake, he was a gentlemin, and a man of good bread- 


450 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. /. YELLOWPLUSH. 

ing ; and miss came a little too strong (pardon the wulgarity o£ 
the xpression) with her harder and attachmint, for one of his 
taste. Besides, she had a crookid spine, and a squint ; so that 
(supposing their fortns tolrabbly equal) Deuceace reely pre- 
ferred the mother-in-law. 

Now, then, it was his bisniss to find out w^hich had the most 
money. With an English famly this would have been easy : a 
look at a will at Doctor Commons’es would settle the matter 
at once. But this India naybob’s will was at Calcutty, or some 
outlandish place ; and there was no getting sight of a coppy of 
it. I will do Mr. Algernon Deuceace the justass to say, that 
he was so little musnary in his love for Lady Griffin, that he 
would have married her gladly, even if she had ten thousand 
pounds less than Miss Matilda. In the meantime, his plan was 
to keep ’em both in play, until he could strike the best fish of 
the two — not a difficult matter for a man of his genus : besides, 
Miss was hooked for certain. 


Chap. II. — “ Honor thy Father.^^ 

I SAID that my master was adoared by every person in my 
Lady Griffin’s establishmint. I should have said by every 
person excep one, — a young French genlmn, that is, who, before 
our appearants, had been mighty partiklar with my lady, ocku- 
pying by her side exackly the samepasition which the Honrable 
Mr. Deuceace now held. It was bewtiffle and headifying to 
see how coolly that young nobleman kicked the poar Shevalliay 
de L’Orge out of his shoes, and how gracefully he himself stept 
into ’em. Munseer de L’Orge was a smart young French 
jentleman, of about my master’s age and good looks, but not 
possest of half my master’s impidince. Not that that quallaty 
is uncommon in France ; but few, very few, had it to such a 
degree as my exlent employer, Mr. Deuceace. Besides De 
L’Orge was reglarly and reely in love with Lady Griffin, and 
master only pretending : he had, of coars, an advantitch, which 
the poor Frentchman never could git. He was all smiles and 
gaty, while Delorge was ockward and melumcolly. My mas- 
ter had said twenty pretty things to Lady Griffin, befor tlie 
shevalier had finished smoothing his hat, staring at her, and 
sighing fit to bust his weskit. O luv, luv ! This isn’t the way 
to win a woman, or my name’s not Fitzroy Yellowplush ! . My 
self, when I begun my carear among the fair six, I was always 


DEUCE ACE AT PA E/S. 


451 

sighing and moping, like this poar Frenchman. What was the 
consquints ? The foar fust women I adoared lafft at me, and 
left me for something more lively. With the rest I have edopt- 
ed a different game, and with tolerable suxess, I can tell you. 
But this is eggatism, which I aboar. 

Well, the long and the short of it is, that Munseer Ferdi- 
nand Hyppolite Xavier Stanislas, Shevalier de L’Orge, was 
reglar cut out by Munseer Algernon Percy Deuceace, Exquire. 
Poar Ferdinand did not leave the house — he hadn’t the heart 
to do that — nor had my lady the desire to dismiss him. He 
was usefle in a thousand different ways, getting oppra-boxes, 
and invitations to French swarries, hying gloves, and O de 
Colong, writing French noats, and such like. Always let me 
recommend an English famly, going to Paris, to have at least 
one young man of the sort about them. Never mind how old 
your ladyship is, he will make love to you ; never mind whav 
errints you send him upon, he’ll trot off and do them. Besides, 
he’s always quite and well-dresst, and never drinx moar than 
a pint of wine at dinner, which (as I say) is a pint to consider. 
Such a conveniants of a man was Munseer de L’Orge — the 
greatest use and comfort to my lady, posbill ; if it was but to 
laff at his bad pronunciatium of English, it was somethink 
amusink; the fun was to pit him against poar Miss Kicksey, 
she speakin French, and he our naytif British tong. 

My master, to do him justace, was perfickly sivvle to this 
poar young Frenchman ; and having kicked him out of the place 
which he occupied, sertingly treated his fallen anymy with 
every respect and consideration. Poor modist down-hearted 
little Ferdinand adoared my lady as a goddice ! and so he was 
very polite, likewise, to my master — never venturing once to be 
jellows of him, or to question my Lady Griffin’s right to change 
her lover, if she choase to do so. 

Thus, then, matters stood ; master had two strinx to his bo, 
and might take either the widdo or the orfn, as he preferred : 
com bong Iwee somblay, as the Frentch say. His only pint was 
to discover how the money was disposed off, which evidently be- 
longed to one or other, or boath. At any rate he was sure of 
one ; as sure as any mortal man can be in this sublimary spear, 
where nothink is suttin except iinsertnty. 

A very unixpected insident here took place, which in a 
good deal changed my master’s calkylations. 

One night, after conducting the two ladies to the oppra, 
after suppink of white soop, sammy-deperdrow, and shampang 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR, C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 


452 

glassy (which means, eyced), at their house in the Plas 
Vandom, me and master droav hoam in the cab, as happy as 
possbill. 

“ Chawls youd — d scoundrel,” says he to me (for he was in 
an exlent burner), “when I’m married. I’ll dubbil your wagis.” 

This he might do, to be sure, without injaring himself, seing 
that he had as yet never paid me any. But, what then ? Law 
bless us ? things would be at a pretty pass if we suvvants only 
lived on our wagis ; our puckwisits is the thing, and no mistake. 

I ixprest my~gratitude as best I could ; swoar that it wasn’t 
for wagis I served him — that I would as leaf weight upon him 
for nothink ; and that never, never, so long as I livd, would I, 
of my own accord, part from such an exlent master. By the 
time these two spitches had been made — my spitch and his 
— we arrived at the “ Hotel Mirabeu ; ” which, as everybody 
knows, ain’t very distant from the Plas Vandome, Up we 
marched to our apartmince, me carrying the light and the cloax, 
master hummink a hair out of the oppra, as merry as a lark. 

I opened the door of our salong. There was lights already 
in the room ; an empty shampang bottle roalin on the floor, an- 
other on the table ; near which the sofy was drawn, and on it 
lay a stout old genlmn, smoaking seagars as if he’d bean in 
an inn tap-room. 

Deuceace (who abommanates seagars, as I’ve already shown) 
bust into a furious raige against the genlmn, whom he could 
hardly see for the smoak ; and, with a number of oaves quite 
unnecessary to repeat, asked him what bisniss he’d there. 

The smoaking chap rose, and, laying down his segar, began 
a ror of laffin, and said, “What! Algy my boy ! don’t you know 
me ! ” 

The reader may praps reklect a very affecting letter which 
was published in the last chapter of these memoars ; in which 
the writer requested a loan of five hundred pound from Mr. 
Algernon Deuceace, and which boar the respected signatur of 
the Earl of Crabs, Mr. Deuceace’s own father. It was that dis- 
tinguished arastycrat who was now smokin and laffin in our 
room. 

My Lord Crabs was, as I preshumed, about 60 years old. 
A stowt, burly, red-faced, bald-headed nobleman, whose nose 
seemed blushing at what his mouth was continually swallowing; 
whose hand, praps, trembled a little ; and whose thy and legg 
was not quite so full or as steddy as they had been in former days. 
But he was a respecktabble, fine-looking, old nobleman ; and 
though it must be contest ^ drunk when we fust made our 


AfJ^. DEUCEACE AT PARIS. 


453 

appearance in the salong, yet by no means moor so than a reel 
noblemin ought to be. 

‘'What, Algy my boy ! ” shouts out his lordship, advancing 
and seasing master by the hand, “ doan’t you know your own 
father.?” 

Master seemed anythink but overhappy. “ My lord,” says 
he, looking very pale, and speakin rayther slow, “ I didn’t — I 
confess — the unexpected pleasure — of seeing you in Paris. 
The fact is, sir,” said he, recovering himself a little ; “ the fact 
is, there was such a confounded smoke of tobacco in the room, 
that I really could not see who the stranger was who had paid 
me such an unexpected visit.” 

“ A bad habit, Algernon ; a bad habit,” said my lord, light- 
ing another seagar : “ a disgusting and filthy practice, which 
you, my dear child, will do well to avoid. It is at best, dear 
Algernon, but a nasty, idle pastime, unfitting a man as well for 
mental exertion as for respectable society ; sacrificing, at once, 
the vigor of the intellect and the graces of the person. By the bye, 
what infernal bad tobacco they have, too, in this hotel. Could 
not you send your servant to get me a few seagars at the Cafe 
de Paris .? Give him a five-franc piece, and let him go at once, 
that’s a good fellow.” 

Here his lordship hiccupt, and drank off a fresh tumbler of 
shampang. Very sulkily, master drew out the coin, and sent 
me on the errint. 

Knowing the Cafe de Paris to be shut at that hour, I didn’t 
say a word, but quietly establisht myself in the ante-room ; 
where, as it happened by a singler coinstdints, I could hear 
every word of the conversation between this exlent pair of re- 
latifs. 

“ Help yourself, and get another bottle,” says my lord, after 
a solium paws. My poor master, the king of all other compnies 
in which he moved, seemed here but to play secknd fiddill, 
and went to the cubbard, from which his father had already 
igstracted two bottils of his prime Sillary. 

He put it down before his father, coft, spit, opened the win- 
dows, stirred the fire, yawned, clapt his hand to his forehead, 
and suttnly seamed as uneezy as a genlmn could be. But it 
was of no use ; the 6ld one would not budg. “ Help yourself,” 
says he again, “and pass me the bottil.” 

“ You are very good, father,” says master ; “ but really, I 
neither drink. nor smoke.” 

“ Right, my boy : quite right. Talk about a good conscience 
in this life — a good stomack is everythink. No bad nights, no 


454 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOIVPLUSH. 

headachs — eh ? Quite cool and collected for your law studies 
in the morning ? — eh ? ” And the old nobleman here grinned, 
in a manner which would have done creddit to Mr. Grimoldi. 

Master sat pale and wincing, as I’ve seen a pore soldier 
under the cat. He didn’t anser a word. His exlant pa went 
on, warming as he continued to speak, and drinking a fresh 
glas at evry full stop. 

“ How you must improve, with such talents and such prin- 
ciples ! Why, Algernon, all London talks of your industr)' and 
perseverance : you’^re not merely a philosopher, man ; hang it ! 
you’v^e got the philosopher’s stone. Fine rooms, fine horses, 
champagne, and all for 200 a year ! ” • 

“ i presume, sir,” says my master, that you mean the two 
hundred a year which you pay me ? ” 

“ The very sum, my boy ; the very sum ! ” cries my lord, 
laffin as if he would die. “ Why, that’s the wonder ! I never 
pay the two hundred a year, and you keep all this state up up- 
on nothing. Give me your secret, O you young Trismegistus I 
Tell your old father how such wonders can be worked, and I 
will — yes, then, upon my word, I will — pay you your two hun- 
dred a year ! ” 

“ Enjt7i., my lord,” says Mr. Deuceace, starting up, and 
losing all patience, “ will you have the goodness to tell me what 
this visit means? You leave me to starve, for all you care; 
and you grow mighty facetious because I earn my bread. You 
find me in prosperity, and ” 

“ Precisely, my l3oy ; precisely. Keep your temper, and 
pass that bottle. I find you in prosperity ; and a young gentle- 
man of your genius and acquirements asks me why I seek your 
society ? Oh, Algernon ! Algernon ! this is not worthy of such 
a profound philosopher. Why do I seek you ? Why, because 
you are in prosperity, O my son! else, why the devil should I 
bother myself about you ? Did I, your poor mother, or your 
family, ever get from you a single affectionate feeling ? Did we, 
or any other of your friends or intimates, ever know you to be 
guilty of a single honest or generous action ? Did we ever pre- 
tend any love for you, or you for us ? Algernon Deuceace, you 
don’t want a father to tell you that you are a swindler and a 
spendthrift 1 I have paid thousands for the debts of yourself 
and your brothers ; and, if you pay nobody else, I am deter- 
mined you shall repay me. You would not do it by fair means, 
when I wrote to you and asked you for a loan of money. I 
knew you would not. Had I written again to warn you of my 
coming, you would have given me the slip ; and so I came, 


DEUCEACE AT PARIS. 


455 

uninvited, to fo7xe you to repay me. Thafs why I am here, Mr. 
Algernon ; and so help yourself and pass the bottle.” 

After this speach, the old genlmn sunk down on the sofa, 
and puffed as much smoke out of his mouth as if he’d been the 
chimley of a steam-injian. I was pleased, 1 confess, with the 
sean, and liked to see this venrabble and virtuous old man a- 
nocking his son about the hed ; just as Deuceace had done with 
Mr. Richard Blewitt, as I’ve before shown. Master’s face was, 
fust, red-hot ; next, chawk-white ; and then, sky-blew. He 
looked, for all the world, like Mr. Tippy Cooke in the tragady 
of Frankinstang. At last, he mannidged to speak. 

“ My lord,” says he, “ I expected when I saw you that some 
such scheme was on foot. Swindler and spendthrift as I am, at 
least it is but a family failing ; and I am indebted for my virtues 
to ray father’s precious example. Your lordship has, I perceive, 
added drunkenness to the list of your accomplishments ; and I 
suppose, under the influence of that gentlemanly excitement, has 
come to make these preposterous propositions to me. When 
you are sober, you will, perhaps, be wise enough to know, that, 
fool as I may be, I am not such a fool as you think me ; and 
that if I have got money, I intend to keep it — every farthing of 
it, though you were to be ten times as drunk, and ten times as 
threatening as you are now.” 

“ Well, well, my boy,” said Lord Crabs, who seemed to have 
been half-asleep during his son’s oratium, and recei/ed all his 
sneers and surcasms with the most complete good-humor ; 
“ well, well, if you will resist, tant pis pour toi. I’ve no desire to 
ruin you, recollect, and am not in the slightest degree angry ; 
but I must and will have a thousand pounds. You had better 
give me the money at once ; it will cost you more if you don’t.” 

“ Sir,” says Mr. Deuceace, “ I will be equally candid. I 
would not give you a farthing to save you from ” 

Here I thought proper to open the doar, and, touching my 
hat, said, “ I have been to the Cafd de Paris, my lord, but the 
house is shut.” 

“ Bo71 : there’s a good lad ; you may keep the five francs. 
And now, get me a candle and show me down stairs. ’ 

But my master seized the wax taper. “ Pardon me, my lord,” 
says he. “ What ! a servant do it, when your son is in the room 
K\\ par exeviplc, my dear father,” said he, laughing, “you think 
there is no politeness left among us.” And he led the way 
out. 

“Good-night, my dear boy,” said Lord Crabs 


4i;6 the memoirs OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

‘‘ God bless you, sir,” says he. “ Are you wrapped warm ? 
Mind the step ! ” 

And so this affeckshnate pair parted. 


Chap. III. — Minewvring. 

Master rose the nex morning with a dismal countinants — 
he seamed to think that his pa’s visit boded him no good. I 
heard him muttering at his brexfast, and fumbling among his 
hundred pound notes ; once he had laid a parsle of them aside 
(I knew what he meant), to send ’em to his father. “ But no,” 
says he at last, clutching them all up together again, and 
throwing them into his escritaw, “ what harm can he do me ? 
If he is a knave, I know another who’s full as sharp. Let’s see 
if we cannot beat him at his own weapons.” With that Mr. 
Deuceace drest himself in his best clothes, and marched off to 
the Bias Vandom, to pay his cort to the fairwiddo and the in- 
tresting orfn. 

It was abowt ten o’clock, and he propoased to the ladies, on 
seeing them, a number of planns for the day’s rackryation. 
Riding in the Body Balong, going to the Twillaries to see King 
Looy Disweet (who was then the raining sufferin of the French 
crownd) go to chappie, and, finely, a dinner at 5 o’clock at the 
Caffy de Parry ; whents they were all to adjourn, to see a new 
peace at the theatre of the Pot St. Martin, called Sussanna?' and 
the Elders. 

The gals agread to everythink, exsep the two last prepo- 
sitiums. “ We have an engagement, my dear Mr. Algernon,” 
said my lady. “ Look — a very kind letter from Lady Bobtail.” 
And she handed over a pafewmd noat from that exolted lady. 
It ran thus : — 

Fbg, St. Honori, Thursday., Feb. 15, 1817. 

“My dear Lady Griffin, — It is an age since we met. Harassing public duties oc- 
cupy so much myself and Lord Bobtail, that w'e have scarce time to see our private friends: 
among whom, I hope, my dear Lady Griffin will allow me to rank her. Will you excuse so 
very unceremonious an invitation, and dine with us at the embassy' to-day ? 'We shall be 
eti petite comite, and shall have the pleasure of hearing, I hope, some of your charming 
d.iughter's singing in the evening. I ought, perhaps, to have addressed a separate note to 
dear Miss Griffin ; but I hope she will pardon a poor diplomate, who has so many letters to 
write, you know. 

“ Farewell till seven, when I positively must you both. Ever, dearest Lady Griffin, 

your affectionate 

“ Eliza Bobtail.” 

Such a letter from the ambassdriss, brot by the ambasdor’s 
Shassure, and sealed with his seal of arms, would affect anybody 
in the middling ranx of life. It droav Lady Griffin mad with 
delight; and, long before my master’s arrivle, she’d sent Mor- 


MR. DEUCE ACE A T PARIS. 


457 

timer and Fitzclarence, her two footmin, along with a polite 
reply in the affummatiff. 

Master read the noat with no such fealinx of joy. He felt 
that there was somethink a-going on behind the seans, and, 
though he could not tell how, was sure that some danger was 
near him. That old fox of a father of his had begun his 
MTnations pretty early ! 

Deuceace handed back the letter ; sneared, and poohd, and 
hinted that such an invitation was an insult at best (what he 
called a pees ally) \ and, the ladies might depend upon it, 
was only sent because Lady Bobtail wanted to fill up two spare 
places at her table. But Lady Griffin and Miss would not have 
his insinwations ; they knew too fu lords ever to refuse an invi- 
tatium from any one of them. Go they would ; and poor 
Deuceace must dine alone. After they had been on their ride, 
and had had their other amusemince, master came back with 
them, chatted, and laft ; he was mighty sarkastix with my lady; 
tender and sentrymentle with Miss ; and left them both in high 
sperrits to perform their twollet, before dinner. 

As' I came to the door (for I was as famillyer as a servnt of 
the house), as I came into the drawing-room to announts his 
cab, I saw master very quietly taking his pocket-book (or pot 
fool., as the French call it) and thrusting it under one of the 
cushinx of the sofa. What game is this ? thinx 1. 

Why, this was the game. In abowt two hours, when he 
knew the ladies were gon, he pretends to be vastly anxious 
abowt the loss of his potfolio ; and back he goes to Lady 
Griffinses to seek for it there. 

“ Pray,” says he, on going in, “ ask Miss Kicksey if I may 
see her for a single moment.” And down comes Miss Kicksey, 
quite smiling, and happy to see him. 

“ Law, Mr. Deuceace ! ” says she, trying to blush as hard 
as ev^er she could, “ you quite surprise me ! I don’t know 
whether I ought, really, being alone, to admit a gentleman.” 

“ Nay, don’t say so, dear Miss' Kicksey ! for do you know', 
I came here for a double purpose — to ask about a pocket-book 
which I have lost, and may, perhaps, have left here ; and then, 
to ask if you will have the great goodness to pity a solitary 
bachelor, and give him a cup of your nice tea ? ” 

Nice tea I I thot I should have split ; for I’m blest if master 
had eaten a morsle of dinner ! 

Never mind; down to tea they sat. “Do you take cream 
and sugar, dear sir? ” says poar Kicksey, with a voice as tender 
as a tuttle-duff. 


458 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

“Both, dearest Miss Kicksey ! ” answers ' master ; who 
stowed in a power of sashong and muffinx which would have 
done honor to a washawoman. 

I sha’n’t describe the conversation that took place betwigst 
master and this young lady. The reader, praps, knows y 
Deuceace took the trouble to talk to her fof an hour, and to 
sv/allow all her tea. He wanted to find out from her all she 
knew about the famly money matters, and settle at once which 
of the two Griffinses he should marry. 

'rhe poar thing, of cors, was no match for such a man as 
my master. In a quarter of an hour, he had, if I may use the 
igspression, “ turned her inside out.” He knew everything 
that she knew ; and that, poar creature, was very little. There 
was nine thousand a year, she had heard say, in money, in 
houses, in banks in Injar, and what not. Boath the ladies 
signed papers for selling or buying, and the money seemed 
equilly divided betwigst them. 

Nine thousand a year I Deuceace went away, his cheex 
tingling, his heart beating. He, without a penny, could nex 
morning, if he liked, be master of five thousand per hannum ! 

Yes. But how } ^Which had the money, the mother or the 
daughter ? All the tea-drinking had not taught him this piece 
of nollidge ; and Deuceace thought it a pity that he could not 
marry both. 

******* 

The ladies cam.e back at night, mightaly pleased with their 
reception at the ambasdor’s ; and, stepping out of their carridge, 
bid coachmin drive on with a gentlemin who had handed them 
out — a stout old gentlemin, who shook hands most tenderly 
at parting, and promised to call often upon my Lady Griffin. 
He was so polite, that he wanted to mount the stairs "with her 
ladyship; but no, she would not suffer it. “Edward,” says 
she to the coachmin, quite loud, and pleased that all the people 
in the hotel should hear her, “ you will take the carriage, and 
drive his lordship home.” Now, can you guess who his lordship 
was 1 The Right Hon. the Earl of Crabs, to be sure ; the very 
old genlmn whom I had seen on such charming terms with his 
son the day before. Master knew this the nex day, and began 
to think he had been a fool to deny his pa the thousand pound. 

Now, though the suckmstansies of the dinner at the ambas- 
dor’s only came to my years some time after, I may as well 
relate ’em here, word for word, as they was told me by the very 
genlmn who waited behind .Lord Crabseses chair. 

. There was only a petty comity ” at dinner, as Lady Bobtail 


Af/^. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


459 


said ; and my Lord Crabs was placed betwigst the two Grif- 
finses, being mighty ellygant and palite to both. “ Allow me,” 
says he to Lady G. (between the soop and the fish), “ my dear 
madam, to thank you — fervently thank you for your goodness 
to my poor boy. Your ladyship is too young to experience, 
but, I am sure, far too tender not to understand the gratitude 
which must fill a fond parent’s heart for kindness shown to his 
child. Believe me,” says my lord, looking her full and tenderly 
in the face, “that the, favors you have done to another have 
been done equally to myself, and awaken in my bosom the same 
grateful and affectionate feelings with which you have already 
inspired my son Algernon.” 

Lady Griffin blusht, and droopt her head till her ringlets 
fell into her fish-plate : and she swallowed Lord Crabs’s flumry 
just as she would so many musharuins. My Lord (whose 
powers of slack-jaw was notoarious) nex addrast another spitch 
to Miss Griffin. He said he’d heard how Deuceace was situated. 
Miss blusht — what a happy dog he. was — Miss blusht crimson, 
and then he sighed deeply, and began eating his turbat and 
lobster sos. Master was a good un at flumry, but, law bless 
you ! he was no moar equill to the old man than a mole-hill is 
to a mounting. Before the night was over, he had made as 
much progress as another man would in a ear. One almost 
forgot his red nose and his big stomick, and his wicked leering 
i’s, in his gentle insiniwating woice, his fund of annygoats, and, 
above all, the bewtifle, morl, religious, and honrabble toan of 
his genral conversation. Praps you will say that these ladies 
w'ere, for such rich pipple, mightaly esaly captivated ; but reck- 
lect, my dear sir, that they were fresh from Injar, — that they’d 
not sean many lords, — that they adoared the peeridge, as every 
honest woman does in England who has proper feelinx, and has 
read the fashnabble novvles, — and that here at Paris was their 
fust step into fashnabble sosiaty. 

Well, after dinner, while Miss Matilda was singing “ 
or “ Dip your chairP or some of them sellabrated 
Italyian hairs (when she began this squall, hang me if she’d 
ever stop), my lord gets hold of Lady Griffin again, and gradgaly 
begins to talk to her in a very different strane. 

“ What a blessing it is for us all,” says he, “ that Algernon 
has found a friend so respectable as your ladyship.” 

“ Indeed, my lord ; and why .? I suppose I am not the only 
respectable friend that Mr. Deuceace has ? ” 

“ No, surely ; not the only one he has had : his birth, and, 
permit m.e to say, his relationship to myself, have procured him 


46 o the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

many. But — ” (here my lord heaved a very affecting and large 
sigh). 

“ But what ? ” says my lady, laffing at the igspression of his 
dismal face. “You don’t mean that Mr. Deuceace has lost 
them or is unworthy of them ? ” 

“ I trust not, my dear madam, I trust not ; but he is wild, 
thoughtless, extravagant, and embarrassed : and you know a 
man under these circumstances is not very particular as to his 
associates.” 

“ Embarrassed ? Good heavens ! He says he has two 
thousand a year left him by a godmother ; and he does not 
seem even to spend his income — a very handsome independ- 
ence, too, for a bachelor.” 

My lord nodded his head sadly, and said, — “Will your lady- 
ship give me your word of honor to be secret ? My son has 
but a thousand a year, which I allow him, and is heavily in 
debt. He has played, madam, I fear ; and for this reason I am 
so glad to hear that he is in a respectable domestic circle, 
where he may learn, in the presence of far greater and purer 
attractions, to forget the dice-box, and the low company which 
has been his bane.” 

My Lady Griffin looked very grave indeed. Was it true? 
Was Deuceace sincere in his professions of love, or was he only 
a sharper wooing her for her money ? Could she doubt her 
informer ? his own father, and, what’s more, a real flesh and 
blood pear of parlyment ? She determined she would try him. 
Praps she did not know she had liked Deuceace so much, until 
she kem to feel how much she should hate him if she found he’d 
been playing her false. 

The evening was over, and back they came, as wee’ve seen, 
— my lord driving home in my lady’s carridge, her ladyship and 
Miss walking up stairs to their own apartmince. 

Here, for a wonder, was poar Miss Kicksey quite happy and 
smiling, and evidently full of a secret, — something inighty 
pleasant, to judge from her loox. She did not long keep it. 
As she was making tea for the ladies (for in that house they 
took a cup regular before bed-time), “ Well, my lady,” says she, 
“ who do you think has been to drink tea with me ? ” Poar 
thing, a frendly face was an event in her life — a tea-party quite 
a hera ! 

“ Why, perhaps, Lenoir my maid,” says my lady, looking 
grave. “ I wish, Miss Kicksey, you would not demean your- 
self by mixing with my domestics. Recollect, madam, that you 
are sister to Lady Griffin. 


MR. DE UCEA CE A T PA RIS. 46 1 

“ No, my lady, it was not Lenoir ; it was a gentleman, and 
a handsome gentleman, too.” 

“ Oh, it was Monsieur de I’Orge, then,” says Miss ; he 
promised to bring me some guitar-strings.” 

“ No, nor yet M. de I’Orge. He came, but was not so 
polite as to ask for me. What do you think of your own beau, 
the Honorable Mr. Algernon Deuceace;” and, so saying, poar 
Kicksey clapped her hands together, and looked as joyfle as if 
she’d come into a fortin. 

“ Mr. Deuceace here ; and why, pray.? ” says ray lady, who 
recklected all that his exlent pa had been saying to her. 

“ Why, in the first place, he had left his pocket-book, and 
in the second, he wanted, he said, a dish of my nice tea ; which 
he took, and stayed with me an hour, or moar.” 

“ And pray. Miss Kicksey,” said Miss Matilda, quite con- 
tempshusly, “ what may have been the subject of your con- 
versation with Mr. Algernon ? Did you talk politics, or music, 
or fine arts, or metaphysics .? ” Miss M. being what was called 
a blue (as most humpbacked women in sosiaty are), always 
made a pint to speak on these grand subjects. 

“ No, indeed ; he talked of no such awful matters. If he 
had, you know, Matilda, I should never have understood him. 
First we talked about the weather, next about muffins and 
crumpets. Crumpets, he said, he liked best ; and then we 
talked” (here Miss Kicksey’s voice fell) “about poor dear Sii 
George in heaven ! what a good husband he was, and ” 

“ What a good fortune he left, — eh, Miss Kicksey .? ” says 
my lady, with a hard, snearing voice, and a diabollicle grin. 

“ Yes, dear Leonora, he spoke so respectfully of your 
blessed husband, and seemed so anxious about you and Matilda, 
it was quite charming to hear him, dear man ! ” 

“ And pray. Miss Kicksey, what did you tell him ? ” 

“ Oh, I told him that you and Leonora had nine thousand 
a year, and — 

“ What then ? ” 

“ Why, nothing ; that is all I know. I am sure I wish I had 
ninety,” says poor Kicksey, her eyes turning to. heaven. 

“ Ninety fiddlesticks ! Did not Mr. Deuceace ask how the 
money was left, and to which of us ? ” 

“ Yes ; but I could not tell him.” 

“ I knew it ! ” says my lady, slapping down her teacup, — ■ 
** I knew it ! ” 

“ Well ! ” says Miss Matilda, “ and why not. Lady Griffin ? 
There is no reason you should break your teacup, because 


462 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

Algernon asks a harmless question. He is not mercenary ; he 
is all candor, innocence, generosity ! He is himself blessed 
with a sufficient portion of the world’s goods to be content ; and 
often and often has he told me he hoped the woman of his 
choice might come to him without a penny, that he might show 
the purity of his affection.” 

“ I’ve no doubt,” says my lady. “ Perhaps the lady of his 
choice is Miss Matilda Griffin ! ” and she flung out of the room, 
slamming the door, and leaving Miss Matilda to bust into tears, 
as was her reglar custom, and pour her loves and woas into the 
buzzom of Miss Kicksey. 


Chap. IV. — “Hitting the Nale on the Hedd.” 

The nex morning, down came me and master to Lady 
Griffinses, — I amusing myself with the gals in the antyroom, he 
paying his devours to the ladies in the salong. Miss was 
thrumming on her gitter ; my lady was before a great box of 
papers, busy with accounts, bankers’ books, lawyers’ letters, 
and what not. Law bless us ! it’s a kind of bisniss I should 
like well enuff ; especially when my hannual account was 
seven or eight thousand on the right side, like my lady’s. My 
lady in this house kep all these matters to herself. Miss was 
a vast deal too sentrimentle to mind business. 

Miss Matilda’s eyes sparkled as master came in ; she pinted 
gracefully to a place on the sofy beside her, which Deuceace 
took. My lady only looked up for a moment, smiled very 
kindly, and down went her head among the papers agen, as 
busy as a B. 

“ Lady Griffin has had letters from London,” says Miss, 
“ from nasty lawyers and people. Come here and sit by me, 
you naughty man you ! ” 

And down sat master. “ Willingly,” says he, “ my dear 
Miss Griffin ; why, I declare, it is quite a tete-a-ietej^ 

“Well,” says Miss (after the prillimnary flumries, in coarse), 
*Gve met a friend of yours at the embassy, Mr. Deuceace.” 

“ My father, doubtless ; he is a great friend of the ambassa* 
dor, and surprised me myself by a visit the night before last.” 

“What a dear delightful old man! how he loves you, Mr. 
Deuceace I ” 

“ Oh, amazingly ! ” says master, throwing his i’s to heaven. 

“ He spoke of nothing but you, and such praises of you I ” 

Master breathed more freely. “ He is very good, my dear 


MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS. 463 

father; but blind, as all fathers are, he is so partial and at- 
tached to lae.” 

“ He spoke of you being his favorite child, and regretted 
that you were not his eldest son. ‘ 1 can but leave him the 
small portion of a younger brother,’ he said ; ‘but never mind, 
he has talents, a noble name, and an independence of his 
own.’ ” 

“An independence ? yes, oh yes ; I am quite independent of 
my father.” 

“ Two thousand pounds a year left you by your godmother ; 
the very same you told us you know.” 

“ Neither more nor less,” says master, bobbing his head ; 
“ a sufficiency, my dear Miss Griffin, — to a man of my moderate 
habits an ample provision.” 

“By the bye,” cries out Lady Griffin, interrupting the con- 
versation, “ you who are talking about money matters there, I 
wish you would come to the aid of poor me ! Come, naughty 
boy, and help me out with this long, long sum.” 

he go — that’s all ! My i, how his i’s shone, as he 
skipt across the room, and seated himself by my lady ! 

“ Look ! ” said she, “ my agents write me over that they 
have received a remittance of 7,200 rupees, at 2s. 9^. a rupee. 
Do tell me what the sum is, in pounds and shillings which 
master did with great gravity. 

“ Nine hundred and ninety pounds. Good ; I dare say you 
are right. I’m sure I can’t go through the fatigue to see. And 
now comes another question. Whose money is this, mine or 
Matilda’s ? You see it is the interest of a sum in India, which 
we have not had occasion to touch ; and, according to the terms 
of poor Sir George’s will, I really don’t know how to dispose of 
the money except to spend it. Matilda, what shall-we do with 
it ? ” 

“ La, ma’am, I wish you would arrange the business your- 
self.” 

“ Well, then, Algernon, you tell me ; ” and she laid her hana 
on his, and looked him most pathetickly in the face. 

“ Why,” says he, “ I don’t know how Sir George left his 
monev ; you must let me see his will, first.” 

“ Oh, willingly.” 

Master’s chair seemed suddenly to have got springs in the 
cushns ; he was obliged to hold hwtself down. 

“ Look here, I have only a copy, taken by my hand from 
Sir George’s own manuscript. Soldiers, you know, do not em- 
ploy lawyers much, and this was written on the night before 


464 MEMOIRS OE MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

going into action.” And she read, “ ‘ I, George Griffin,’ &c., 
&c. — you know how these things begin — ‘ being now of sane 
mind ’ — um, urn, um, — ‘ leave to my friends, Thomas Abraham 
Hicks, a colonel in the H. E. I. Company’s Service, and to 
John Monro Mackirkincroft (of the house of Huffle, Mackirkin- 
croft, and Dobbs, at Calcutta), the whole of my property, to be 
realized as speedily as they may (consistently with the interests 
of the property), in trust for my wife, Leanora Emilia Griffin 
(born L. E. Kicksey), and my only legitimate child, Matilda 
Griffin. The interest resulting from such property to be paid 
to them, share and share alike ; the principal to remain un- 
touched, in the names of the said T. A. Hicks and J. M. Mac- 
kirkincroft, until the death of my wife, Leonora Emilia Griffin^ 
when it shall be paid to my daughter, Matilda Griffin, her heirs, 
executors, or assigns.’ ” 

“ There,” said my lady, ‘‘we won’t read any more; all the 
rest is stuff. But now you know the whole business, tell us 
what is to be done with the money ? ” 

“ Why, the money, unquestionably, should be divided be- 
tween you.” 

“ Tant mieux, say I ; I really thought it had been all Ma- 
tilda’s.” 

* * * * ♦ 

There was a paws for a minit or two after the will had been 
read. Master left the desk at which he had been seated with 
her ladyship, paced up and down the room for a while, and then 
came round to the place where Miss Matilda w^as seated. At 
last he said, in a low, trembling voice, — 

“ I am almost sorry, my dear Lady Griffin, that you have 
read that will to me ; for an attachment such as mine must 
seem, I fear, mercenar}% when the object of it is so greatly favored 
by worldly fortune. Miss Griffin — Matilda ! I know I may 
say the word ; your dear eyes grant me the permission. I need 
not tell 3'ou, or you, dear mother-in-law, how long, how fondly, 
I have adored you. My tender, my beautiful Matilda, I will 
not affect to say I have not read your heart ere this, and that I 
have not known the preference with which you have honored 
me. Speak if, dear girl ! from your own sweet lips : in the 
presence of an affectionate parent, utter the sentence which is 
to seal my happiness for life. Matilda, dearest Matilda ! say 
oh say, that you love me ! ” 

Miss M. shivered, turned pail, rowled her eyes about, and 
fell on master’s neck, whispering hodibly, 

My lady looked at the pair for a moment with her teeth 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


465 

grinding, her i’s glaring, her busm throbbing, and her face chock 
white ; for all the world like Madam Pasty, in the oppra of 
“My dear” (when she’s going no mudder her childring, you 
recklect) ; and out she flounced from the room, without a word, 
knocking down poar me, who happened to be very near the 
dor, and leaving my master along with his crook-back mis- 
tress. 

I’ve repotted the speech he made to her pretty well. The 
fact is, I got it in a ruff copy ; only on the copy it’s wrote. 
Lady Griffin, Leofiora instead of Miss Griffin, Matilda,'' as in 
the abuff, and so on. 

Master had hit the right nail on the head this time he 
thought : but his adventors an’t over yet. 


Chap. V. — The Griffin’s Claws. 

Well, master had hit the right nail on the head this time : 
thanx to luck — the crooked one, to be sure, but then it had the 
goold nobb, which was the part Deuceace most valued, as well 
he should ; being a connyshure as to the relletiff valyou of 
pretious metals, and much preferring virging goold like this to 
poor old battered ifon like my Lady Griffin. 

And so, in spite of his father (at which old noblemin Mr. 
Deuceace now snapt his fingers), in spite of his detts (which, to 
do him Justas, had never stood much in his way), and in spite 
of his povatty, idleness, extravagans, swindling, and debotcher- 
ies of all kinds (which an’t generally very favorable to a young 
man who has to make his way in the world) ; in spite of all, 
there he was, I say at the topp of the trea, the fevv^cher master 
of a perfect fortun, the defianced husbancl of a foci of a wife. 
What can mortial man want more ? Vishns of ambishn now 
occupied his soal. , Shooting boxes, oppra boxes, money boxes 
always full ; hunters at Melton ; a seat in the house of Com- 
mins : heaven knows what ! and not a poar footman, who only 
describes what he’s seen, and can’t, in cors, pennytrate into the 
idears and the busms of men. 

You may be shore that the three-cornered noats came pretty 
thick now from the Griffinses. Miss vras always a-writing them 
befoar ; and now, nite, noon, and mornink, breakfast, dinner, 
and sopper, in they came, till my pantry (for master never read 
^em, and I carried ’em out) was puflickly intolrabble from the 
odor of musk, ambygrease, bargymot, and other sense with 
which they were impregniated. Here’s the 'contense of three 


466 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOIVPLUSH. 

on 'em, which IVe kep in my dex these twenty years as skee* 
wriosities. Faw ! I can smel ’em at this very minit, as I am 
copying them down. 

Billy Doo. No. I. 

“ Monday morning., 2 o'clock. 

“’Tis the witching hour of night. Luna illumines my chamber, and falls upon my sleepless 
pillow. By her light I am inditing these words to thee, my Algernon. My brave and 
beautiful, my soul’s lord ! when shall the time come when the tedious niglit shall not sepa- 
rate us, nor the blessed day Twelve ! one! two! I have heard the bells chime, and the 
quarters, and never cease to think of my husband. My adored Percy, pardon the girlish 
confession, — 1 have kissed the letter at this place. Wiil thy lips press it too, and remain 
for a moment on the spot which has been equally saluted by your 

“ Matilda ? ” 

This was the fust letter, and was brot to our house by one of 
the poar footmin, Fitzclarence, at sicks o’clock in the morning. 
I thot it was for life and death, and woak master at that ex- 
traornary hour, and gave it to him. I shall never forgit him, 
when he red it ; he cramped it up, and he cust and swoar, 
applying to the lady who roat, the genlmn that brought it, and 
me who introjuiced it to his notice such a collection of epitafs 
as I seldom hered, excep at Billinxgit. The fact is thiss ; for 
a fust letter, miss’s noat was rather too strong and sentymentle. 
But that was her way ; she was always reading melancholy 
stoary books — “Thaduse of Wawsaw,” the “ Sorrows of Mac- 
Whirter,” and such like. 

After about 6 of them, master never yoused to read them ; 
but handid them over to me, to see if there was anythink in 
them which must be answered, in order to kip up appearuntses. 
The next letter is 

No. II. 

“ Beloved 1 to what strange madnesses wall passion lead one! Lady Gritfin, since your 
avowal yesterday, has not spoken a word to your poor Matilda ; has declared that she will 
admit no one (heigho ! not even you, my Algernon) ; and has locked herself in her own 
dressing-room. I do believe that she is jealous, and fancies that you were in love with 
her ! Ha, ha ! I could have told her another tale — n’est-ce pas ? Adieu, adieu, adieu ! 
A thousand thousand million kisses ? 

“ M. G.” 

“ Monday afternoon, 2 o'clock." 

There was another letter kem before bedtime ; for though 
me and master called at the Griffinses, we wairnt aloud to enter 
at no price. Mortimer and Fitzclarence grin’d at me, as much 
as to sav we were going to be relations ; but I don’t spose 
master was very sorry when he was obleached to come back 
without seeing the fare objict of his affeckshns. 

Well, on Chewsdy there was the same game ; ditto on Wens- 
day ; only, when we called there, who should we see but our 


MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS. ^ 46 y 

father. Lord Crabs, who was w^aiving his hand to Miss Kicksey, 
and saying he should be back to dbmer at 7 , just as me and 
master came up the stares. There was no admittns for us 
though. “ Bah ! bah ! never mind,” says my lord, taking his 
son affeckshnately by the hand. “ What, two strings to your 
bow ; ay, Algernon 1 The dowager a little jealous, miss a little 
lovesick. But my lady’s fit of anger will vanish, and I promise'' 
you, my boy, that you shall see your fair one to-morrow.” 

And so saying, my lord walked master down stares, looking 
at him as tender and affeckshnat, and speaking to him as sweet 
as posbill. Master did not know what to think of it. He never 
new what game his old father was at; only- he somehow felt 
that he had got his head in a net, in spite of his suxess on 
Sunday. I knew it — I knew it quite well, as soon as I saw the 
old genlmn igsammin him, by a kind of smile which came over 
his old face, and was somethink betwigst the angellic and the 
direbollicle. 

But master’s dowts were cleared up nex day and every- 
thing was bright again. At brexfast, in comes a note with 
inclosier, boath of witch I here copy : — 


No. IX. 


“ Thursday morning. 


“ Victoria, Victoria ! Mamma has yielded at last ; not her consent to our union, but 
her consent to receive you as before ; and has promised to forget the past. Silly woman, 
how' could she ever think of you as anything but the lover of your Matilda? lam in a 
whirl of delicious joy and passionate excitement. I have been awake all this long night, 
thinking of thee, my Algernon, and longing for the blissful hour of meeting. 

“ Come! 

“ M. G.” 


This is the inclosier from my lady : — 


“I WILL not tell you that your behavior on Sunday did not deeply shock me. I had 
been foolish enough to think of other plans, and to fancy your heart (if you had any) was 
fixed elsewhere than on one at whose foibles you have often laughed with me, and whose 
nerson at least cannot have charmed you. 

“ My step-daughter will not, I presume, marry w'ithout at least going through the cere- 
mony of asking my consent ; I cannot, as yet, give it.' Have I not reason to doubt 
Whether she will be happy in trusting herself to you ? 

“ But she is of age, and has the right to receive in her own house all those who may be 
agreeable to her, — certainly you, who are likely. to be one day so nearly connected with her. 
If I have honest reason to believe that your love for Miss Griffin is sincere ; if I find in a 
few months that you yourse'f are still desirous to marry her, I can, of course, place no further 
obstacles in your w'ay. 

“ You are welcome, then, to return to our hotel. I cannot promise to receive you as I 
did of old ; you would despise me if I did. I can promise, however, to think no more of all 
that has passed between us, and yield up my own happiness for that of the daughter of my 
dear husband. ^ ^ ^ „ 


Well, now, an’t this a manly, straitforard letter enough, and 
natral from a woman whom we had, to confess the truth, treated 
most scuvvily.^ Master thought so, and went and made a 


468 THk MEMOIRS OE MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

tender, respeckful speach to Lady Griffin (a little flumry costs 
nothink). Grave and sorrofle he kist her hand, and, speakin 
in a very low adgitayted voice, calld Hevn to witness how he 
deplord that his conduct should ever have given rise to such an 
unfortnt ideer ; but if he might offer her esteem, respect, the 
warmest and tenderest admiration, he trusted she would accept 
the same, and a deal moar flumry of the kind, with dark, solium 
glansis of the eyes, and plenty of white pockit-hankercher. 

He thought he’d make all safe. Poar fool ! he was in a net 
— sich a net as I never yet see set to ketch a roag in. 


Chap, VI. — The Jewel. 

The Shevalier de TOrge, the young Frenchmin whom I wrote 
of in my last, who had been rather shy of his visits while master 
was coming it so very strong, now came back to his old place 
by the side of Lady Griffin : there was no love now, though, 
betwigst him and master, although the shevallier had got his 
lady back agin ; Deuceace being compleatly devoted to his 
crookid Veanus. 

The shevalier was a little, pale, moddist, insinifishnt crea- 
ture ; and I shoodn’t have thought, from his appearants, would 
have the heart to do harm to a fli, much less to stand befor 
such a tremendious tiger and fire-eater as my master. But I 
see putty well, after a week, from his manner of going on — of 
speakin at master, and lookin at him, and olding his lips tight 
when Deuceace came into the room, and glaring at him with 
his i’s, that he hated the Honrabble Algernon Percy. 

Shall I tell you why ? Because my Lady Griffin hated him : 
hated him wuss than pison, or the devvle, or even wuss than 
her daughter-in-law. Praps you phansy that the letter you 
have juss red was honest ; praps you amadgin that the sean of 
the reading of the will came on by mere chans, and in the 
reglar cors of suckmstansies : it was all a game., I tell you — a 
reglar trap ; and that extrodnar clever young man, my master, 
as neatly put his foot into it, as ever a pocher did in fesnt 
preserve. 

The shevalier had his q from Lady Griffin. When Deuceace 
went off the feald, back came De TOrge to her feet, not a witt 
less tender than befor. Por fellow, por fellow ! he really loved 
this woman. He might as well have foln in love with a bore- 
constructor ! He was so blinded and beat by the power wich 
she had got over him, that if she told him black was white he’d 


MR. D£ UCEA CE AT FA RIS- 469 

beleave it, or if she ordered him to commit murder, he’d do it : 
she wanted something very like it, I can tell you. 

I’ve already said how, in the fust part of their acquaintance, 
master used to laff at De I’Orge’s bad Inglish, and funny ways. 
The little creature had a thowsnd of these ; and being small, 
and a Frenchman, master, in cors, looked on him with that 
good-humored kind of contemp which a good Brittn ot always 
to show. He rayther treated him lilce an intelligent munky 
than a man, and ordered him about as if he’d bean my lady’s 
footman. 

All this munseer took in very good part, until after the quarl 
betwigst master and Lady Grijfiin ; wdien that lady took, care to 
turn the tables. Whenever master and miss were not present 
(as I’ve heard the servants say), she used to laff at shevalliay 
for his obeajance and sivillatty to master. For her part, she 
wondered how a man of his birth could act a servnt: how any 
man could submit to such contemsheous behavior from another ; 
and then she told him how Deuceace was always snearing at 
him behind his back ; how, in fact, he ought to hate him cor- 
jaly, and how it was suttnly time to show his sperrit. 

Well, the poar little man beleaved all this from his hart, 
and was angry or pleased, gentle or quarlsum, igsactly as my 
lady liked. There got to be frequint rows betwigst him and 
master; sharp words flung at each other across the dinner- 
table ; dispewts about handing ladies their smeling-botls, or 
seeing them to their carridge ; or going in and out of a roam 
fust, or any such nonsince. 

“ For hevn’s sake,’’ I heerd my lady, in the midi of one of 
these tiffs, say, pail, and the tears trembling in her i’s, “ do, do 
be calm, Mr. Deuceace. Monsieur de I’Orge, I beseech you to 
forgive him. You are, both of you, so esteemed, lov’d, by 
members of this family, that for its peace as well as your own, 
you should forbear to quarrel.” 

It was on the way to the Sally Mangy that this brangling 
had begun, and it ended jest as they were seating themselves. 
I shall never forgit poar little De I’Orge’s eyes, when my lady 
said, “ both of you.” He stair’d at my lady for a momint, 
turned pail, red, look’d wild, and then, going round to master, 
shook his hand as if he would have wrung it off. Mr. Deuce- 
ace only bow’d and grin’d. and turned away quite stately; 
Miss heaved a loud O from her busm, and looked up in his 
face with an igspreshn jest as if she could have eat him up with 
love ; and the little shevalliay sate down to his soop-plate, and 
wus so happy, that I’m blest if he wasn’t crying! He thought 


470 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C^J. YELLOWPLUSJFf. 

the widdow had made her declyration, and would have him ; 
and so thought Deuceace, who look’d at her for some time 
mighty bitter and contempshus, and then feU a-talking with 
Miss. 

Now, though master didn’t choose to marry Lady Griffin, as 
he might have done, he yet thought fit to be very angry at the 
notion of her marrying anybody else \ and so, consquintly, was 
in a fewry at this confision which she had made regarding her 
parshaleaty for the French shevaleer. 

And this I’ve perseaved in the cors of my expearants 
through life, that when you vex him, a roag’s no longer a roag : 
you find him out at onst when he’s in a passion, for he shows, 
as it ware, his cloven foot the very instnt you tread on it. At 
least, this is what young roags do ; it requires ver\' cool blood 
and long practis to get over this pint, and not to show your 
pashn when you feel it and snarl when you are angry. Old 
Crabs wouldn’t do it ; being like another noblemin, of whom I 
heard the Duke of Wellington say, while waiting behind his 
graci’s chair, that if you were kicking him from behind, no one 
standing before him would know it, from the bewtifle smiling 
igspreshn of his face. Young master hadn’t got so far in the 
thief’s grammer, and, when he was angry, show’d it. And it’s 
also to be remarked (a very profownd observation for a ootm n, 
but we have i’s though we do wear plush britchis), it’s to be re- 
marked, I say, that one of these chaps is much sooner maid 
angry than another, because honest men yield to other people, 
roags never do ; honest men love other people, roags only them- 
selves ; and the slightest thing which comes in the way of thir 
beloved objects sets them fewrious. Master hadn’t led a life 
of gambling, swindling, and every kind of debotch to be good- 
tempered at the end of it, I prommis you. 

He was in a pashun, and when he was in a pashn, a more 
insalent, insuffrable, overbearing broot didn’t live. 

This was the very pint to which my lady wished to bring 
him ; for I must tell you, that though she had been trying all 
her might to set master and the shevalliay by the years, she had 
suxcaded only so far as to make them hate each other pro- 
fowndly : but somehow or other the 2 cox wouldn’t fight. 

I doan’t think Deuceace ever suspected any game on the 
part of her ladyship, for she carried it on so admirally, that the 
quads which daily took place betwigst him and the Frenchman 
never seemed to come from her ; on the con try, she acted as the 
reglar pease-maker between them, as I’ve just shown in the tiff 
which took place at the door of the Sally Mangy. Besides the 2 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


471 

young men, though reddy enough to snarl, were natrally un- 
willing to cum to bloes. I’ll tell you why: being friends, and 
idle, they spent their mornins as young fashnabbles genrally do, 
at billiads, fensing, riding, pistle-shooting, or some such im- 
proving study. In billiads, master beat the Frenchmn hollow 
(and had won a pretious sight of money from him : but that’s 
neither here nor there, or, as the French say, on fry noo) ; at 
pistle-shooting, master could knock down eight immidges out of 
ten, and De I’Orge seven ; and in fensing, the Frenchman 
could pink the Honorable Algernon down evry one of his wes- 
kit buttns. They’d each of them been out more than onst, for 
every Frenchman will fight, and master had been obleag’d to 
do so in the cors of his bisniss ; and knowing each other’s cur- 
ridg, as well as the fact that either could put a hundrid bolls 
running into a hat at 30 yards, they wairn’t very willing to try 
such exparrymence upon their own hats with their own heads 
in them. So you see they kep quiet, and only grould at each 
other. 

But to-day Deuceace was in one of his thundering black 
burners; and when in this way he wouldn’t stop for man or 
devvle. I said that he walked away from the shevalliay,. who 
had given him his hand in his sudden bust of joyfle good- 
humor ; and who, I do bleave, would have hugd a she-bear, so 
very happy was he. Master walked away from him pale and 
hotty, and, taking his seat at table, no moor mindid the brand- 
ishments of Miss Griffin, but only replied to them with a pshaw, 
or a dam at one of us servnts, or abuse of the soop, or the wine ; 
cussing and swearing like a trooper, and not like a wel-bred 
son of a noble British peer. 

“ Will your ladyship,” says he, slivering off the wing of a 
pully ally bashymall, “ allow me to help you ? ” 

“I thank you ! no ; but I will trouble Monsieur de I’Orge.” 
And towards that gnlmn she turned, with a most tender and 
fasnating smile. 

“ Your ladyship has taken a very sudden admiration for Mr, 
de rOrge’s carving. You used to like mine once.” 

“You are very skilful; but to-day, if you will allow me, I - 
will partake of something a little simpler.” 

The Frenchman helped ; and, being so happy, in cors, spilt 
the gravy. A great blob of brown sos spurted on to master’s 
chick, and myandrewd down his shert collar and virging-white 
weskit. 

“ Confound you ! ” says he, “ M. de I’Orge, you have done 
this on purpose.” And down went his knife and fork, over 


472 CHE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

went his tumbler of wine, a deal of it into poar Miss Griffinses 
lap, who looked fritened and ready to cry. 

My lady bust into a fit of laffin, peel upon peel, as if it was 
the best joak in the world. De I’Orge giggled and grin’d too. 
“ Pardong,” says he ; “ meal pardong, mong share munseer.” 
And he looked as if he would have done it again for a penny. 

The little Frenchman was quite in extasis ; he found him^ 
self all of a suddn at the very top of the trea ; and the laff for . 
onst turned against his rivle : he actially had the ordassaty to 
propose to my lady in English to take a glass of wine. 

“Veal you,” says he, in his jargin, “take a glas of Maddre 
viz me, mi lacli ? ” And he looked round, as if he’d igsackly 
hit the English manner and pronunciation. 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” says Lady G., most graciously 
nodding at him, and gazing at him as she drank up the wine. 
She’d refused master before, and //lis didn’t increase his good- 
humer. 

Well, they went on, master snarling, snapping, and swear- 
ing, making himself, I must confess, as much of a blaggard as 
any I ever see ; and my lady employing her time betwigst him 
and the shevalliay, doing everythink to irritate master, and 
flatter the Frenchmn. Desert came : and by this time, Miss 
was stock-still with fright, the chevaleer half tipsy with pleasure 
and gratafied vannaty, my lady puffickly raygent with smiles 
and master bloo with rage. 

“ Mr. Deuceace,” says my lady, in a most winning voice, 
after a little chafflng (in which she only worked him up moar 
and moar), “ may I trouble you for a few of those grapes ? they 
look delicious.” 

For answer, master seas’d hold of the grayp dish, and sent 
it sliding down the table to De I’Orge ; upsetting, in his way, 
fruit-plates, glasses, dickanters, and heaven knows what. 

“ Monsieur de I’Orge,” says he, shouting out at the top of 
his voice, “have the goodness to help Lady Griffin. She 
wanted my grapes long ago, and has found out they are sour ! ” 
* * * * * 

There was a dead paws of a moment or so. 

* * * # * 

“ Ah 1 ” says my lady, “ vous osez m’insulter, devant mes 
gens, dans ma propre maison — c’est par trop fort, monsieur.” 
And up she got, and flung out of the room. Miss followed 

* In the long dialogueti, we have generally ventured to change the peculiar spelling oi 
•ur friend Mr. Yellowplush. 


Mie. DEUCEACE AT PAR/S. 


473 


her, screeching out, “ Mamma — for God’s sake — Lady Griffin ! ” 
and here the door slammed on the pair. 

Her ladyship did very well to speak French. De i'’Org6 
would not have understood her else ; as it was he heard quite 
enough ; and as the door clikt too, in the presents of me, and 
Messeers Mortimer and Fitzclarence, the family footmen, he 
walks round to my master, and hits him a slap on the face, and 
says, “ Prends qa, menteur et lache ! ” which means, “ Take 
that, you liar and coward ! ” — rather strong igspreshns for one 
genlmn to use to another. 

Master staggered back and looked bewildered ; and then 
he gave a kind of a scream, and then he made a run at the 
Frenchman, and then me and Mortimer flung ourselves upon 
him, whilst Fitzclarence embraced the shevalliay. 

“ A demain ! ” says he, clinching his little fist, and walking 
away not very sorry to git off. 

When he was fairly down stares, we let go of master : who 
swallowed a goblit of water, and then pawsing a little and 
pulling out his pus, he presented to Messeers Mortimer and 
Fitzclarence a luydor each. “ I will give you five more to- 
morrow,” says he, “if you will promise to. keep this secrit.” 

And then he walked in to the ladies. “ If you knew,” says 
he, going up to Lady Griffin, and speaking very slow (in cors 
we were all at the keyhole), “the pain I have endured in the 
last minute, in consequence of the rudeness and insolence of 
which I have been guilty to your ladyship, you would think my 
own remorse was punishment sufficient, and would grant me 
pardon.” 

My lady bowed, and said she didn’t wish for explanations. 
Mr. Deuceace was her daughter’s guest, and not hers ; but she 
certainly would never demean herself by sitting again at table 
with him. And so saying, out she boltid again. 

“ Oh ! Algernon ! Algernon ! ” says Miss, in teers, “ what 
is this dreadful mystery — these fearful shocking quarrels 
Tell me, has anything happened ? Where, where is the chev- 
alier ” 

Master smiled and said, “ Be under no alarm, my sweetest 
Matilda. De I’Orge did not understand a word of the dispute ; 
he was too much in love for that. He is but gone away for 
half an hour, I believe ; and will return to coffee.” 

I knew what master’s game was, for if Miss had got a 
hinkling of the quarrel betwigst him and the Frenchman, we 
should have had her screeming at the “ Hotel Mirabeu,” and 
the juice and all to pay. He only stopt for a few minnits and 


474 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

cumfitted her, and then drove off to his friend, Captain Bulls- 
eye, of the Rifles ; with whom, I spose, he talked over this 
unplesnt bisniss. We fownd, at our hotel, a note from De 
rOrge, saying where his secknd was to be seen. 

Two mornings after there was a parrowgraf in Gallynantif s 
Messinger, which I hear beg leaf- to transcribe : — 

Fearful duel. — Yesterday at six o’clock, a meeting took place, in the Bois 

de Boulogne, between the Hon. A. P. D — ce-ce, a younger son of the Earl of Cr-bs, and 

the Chevalier de TO . The chevalier was attended by Major de M , of the Royal 

Guard, and the Hon. Mr. D by Captain B-lIs-ye, of the British Rifle Corps. As far 

as we have been able to learn the particulars of this deplotable affair, the dispute originated 
in the house of a lovely lady (one of the most brilliant ornaments of the embassy), and the 
duel took place on the morning ensuing. 

“ The chevalier (the challenged party, and the most accomplished amateur swordsman 
in Paris) waiyed his right" of choosing the weapons, and the combat took place with pistols. 

“The combatants were placedat forty paces, with direction to advance to a barrier which 
separated them only eight paces. Each was furnished with two pistols. Monsieur de 

I’O fired almost immediately, and the ball took effect in the left wrist of his antagonist, 

who dropped the pistol which he held in that hand. He fired, however, directlj with his 
right, and the chevalier fell to the ground, we fear mortally wounded. A ball has entered 
above his hip-joint, and there is very little liope that he can recover. 

“ We have heard that the cause of this desperate duel was a blow which the chevalier 
ventured to give to the Hon. Mr. D. If so, there is some reason for the unusual and deter- 
mined manner in which the duel was fought. 

“Mr Deu — a-e returned to his hotel; whither his excellent father, the Right Hon. 
Earl of Cr-bs, immediately hastened on hearing of the sad news, and is now bestowing on 
his son the most affectionate parental attention. The news only reached his lordship yes- 
terday at noon, while at breakfast with his Excellency Lord Bobtail, our ambassador. The 
noble earl fainted on receiving the intelligence ; but in spite of the shock to his owmierves 
and health, persisted in passing last night by the couch of his son.” 

And so he did. “ This is a sad business, Charles,” says- my 
lord to me, after seeing his son, and settling himself down in 
our salong. “ Have you any segars in the house ? And, hark 
ye, send me up a bottle of wine and some luncheon. I can 
certainly not leave the neighborhood of my dear boy.” 

Chap. VII. — The Consquinsies. 

The shevalliay did not die, for the ball came out of its own 
accord, in the midst of a violent fever and inflamayshn which 
was brot on by the wound. He was kept in bed for six weeks 
-though, and did not recover for a long time after. 

As for master, his lot, Tm sorry to say, w’as wuss than that 
of his advisary. Inflammation came on too ; and, to make an 
ugly story short, they were obliged to take off his hand at the 
rist. 

He bore it, in cors, like a Trojin, and in a month he too 
was well, and his wound heel’d ; but I never see a man look so 
like a devvle as he used sometimes, when he looked down at 
the stump ! 

To be sure, in Miss Griffinses eyes, this only indeerd him 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


475 

the mor. She sent twenty noats a clay to ask for him, calling 
him her beloved, her unfortunat, her hero, her wictim, and I 
dono what. IVe kep some of the noats as I tell you, and 
curiously sentimentle they are, beating the sorrows of Mac- 
Whirter all to nothing. 

Old Crabs used to come offen, and consumed a power of 
wine and seagars at our house. I bleave he was at Paris 
because there was an exycution in his own house in England ; 
and his son was a sure find (as they say) during his illness, and 
couldn’t deny himself to the old genlmn. His eveninx my lord 
spent reglar at Lady Griffin’s ; where, as master was ill, I didn’t 
go any more now, and where the shevalier wasn’t there to 
disturb him. 

“You see how that woman hates you, Deuceace,” says my 
Lord, one day, in a fit of cander, after they had been talking 
about Lady Griffin : “ she has not done with yon yet, I tell you 
fairly.” 

“ Curse her,” says master, in a fury, lifting up his maim’d 
arm — “ curse her ! but I will be even with her one day. I am 
sure of Matilda : I took care to put that beyond the reach of a 
failure. The girl must marry me, for her own sake.” 

“ For her own sake^! O ho ! Good, good ! ” My lord lifted 
his i’s, and said gravely, “ I understand, my dear boy : it is an 
excellent plan.” 

“ Well,” says master, grinning fearcely and knowingly at his 
exlent old father, “ as the girl is safe, what harm can I fear 
from the fiend of a step-mother ? ” 

My lord only gav a long whizzle, and, soon after, taking up 
his hat, walked off. I*saw him sawnter down the Plas Van- 
dome, and go in quite calmly to the old door of Lady Griffinses 
hotel. Bless his old face ! such a puffickly good-natured, kind- 
hearted, merry, selfish old scoundrel, I never shall see again. 

His lordship was quite right in saying to master that “ Lady 
Griffin hadn’t done with him.” No moar she had. But 
she never would have thought of the nex game she was going 
to play, if somebody hadn't put her up to it. Who did ? If you 
red the above passidge, and saw how a venrabble old genlmn 
took his hat, and sauntered down the Plas Vandome (looking 
hard and kind at all the nussary-maids — buns they call them in 
France — in the way), I leave you to guess who was the author 
of the nex scheam : a woman, suttnly, never would have pitcht 
on it. 

In the fuss payper which I wrote concerrjing Mr. Deuce- 
ace’s adventers, and his kind behayvior to Messrs. Dawkins 


476 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR, C. J, YELLOWPLUSH. 


and Blewitt, I had the honor of laying before the public a 
skidewl of my master’s detts, in which was the following itim : 

“ Bills of xchange and I.O.U.’s, 4963/. os. od. 

The I.O.U.se were trifling, say a thowsnd pound. The bills 
amountid to four thowsnd moar. 

Now, the lor is in France, that if a genlmn gives these in 
England, and a French genlmn gits them in any way, he can 
pursew the Englishman who has drawn them, even though he 
should be in France. Master did not know this fact— laboring 
under a very common mistak, that, when onst Qut of England, 
he might wissle at all the debts he left behind him. 

My Lady Griffin sent over to her slissators in London, \vho 
made arrangemints with the persons who possest the fine col- 
lection of ortografs on stampt paper which master had left 
behind him ; and they were glad enuff to take any opportunity 
of getting back their money. 

One fine morning, as I was looking about in the court-yard 
of our hotel, talking to the servant gals, as was my reglar cus- 
tom, in order to improve myself in the French languidge, one of 
them comes up to me and says, “ Tenez, Monsieur Charles, 
down below in the office there is a bailiff, with a couple of 
gendarmes, who is asking for your master — a-t-il des dettes par 
hasard 'i ” 

I was struck all of a heap — the truth flasht on my mind’s hi. 
“Toinette,” says I, for that was the gal’s name — “Toinette,” 
says I, giving her a kiss, “ keep them for two minnits, as you 
valyou rny affeckshn and then I gave her another kiss, and 
ran up stares to our chambers. Master had now pretty well 
recovered of his wound, and was aloud to drive abowt : it was 
lucky for him that he had the strength to move. “ Sir, sir,” 
says I, “ the bailiffs are after you, and you must run for your 
life.” 

“ Bailiffs ? ” says he : “ nonsense ! I don’t, thank heaven, 
owe a shilling to any man.” 

“ Stuff, sir,” says I, forgetting my respeck ; “don’t you owe 
money in England ? I tell you the bailiffs are here, and will 
be on you in a moment.” 

As I spoke, cling cling, ling ling, goes the bell of the anty- 
shamber, and there they were sure enough ! 

What was to be done ? Quick as litening, I throws off my 
livry coat, claps my goold lace hat on master’s head, and makes 
him put on my livry. Then I wraps myself up in his dressing- 
gown, and lolling down on the sofa, bids him open the door. 


MJ?. DEUCEACE AT PA E/S. 


Ml 

There they were — the bailiff — two jondarms with him — 
Toinette, and an old waiter. When Toinette sees master, she 
smiles, and says : “ Dis done, Charles ! oii est done ton maitre ? 
Chez lui, n’est-ee pas? C’est le jeune homme h monsieur,” 
says she, eurtsying to the bailiff. 

The old waiter was just a-going to blurt out, Mais ee n’est 
pas ! ” when Toinette stops him, and says, “ Laissez done passer 
ees messieurs, vieux bete ; ” and in they walk, the 2 jon d’arms 
taking their post in the hall. 

Master throws open the salong doar very gravely, and 
touehing my hat says, “ Have you any orders about the eab, 
sir ? ” 

“Why, no, Chawls,” says I ; “I sha’n’t drive out to-day.” 

The old bailiff grinned, for he understood English (having 
had plenty of English eustomers), and says in Freneh, as master 
goes out, “ I think, sir, you had better let your servant get a 
coach, for I am under the painful necessity of arresting you, au 
nom de la loi, for the sum of ninety-eight thousand seven hun- 
dred francs, owed by you to the Sieur Jacques Fran9ois Lebrun, 
of Paris ; ” and he pulls out a number of bills, with master’s 
acceptance on them sure enough. 

“ Take a chair, sir,” says I ; and down he sits ; and I began 
to chaff him, as well as I could, about the weather, my illness, 
my sad axdent, having lost one of my hands, which was stuck 
into my busum, and so on. 

At last after a minnit or two, I could contane no longer, and 
bust out in a horse laff. 

The old fellow turned quite pail, and began to suspect some- 
thing. “ Hola ! ” says he ; “ gendarmes ! k moi ! k moi ! Je suis 
flou^, vole,” which means, in English, that he was regular sold. 

The jondarmes jumped into the room, and so did Toinette 
and the waiter. Grasefly rising from my arm-chare, I took my 
hand from my dressing-gownd, and, flinging it open, stuck up 
on the chair one of the neatest legs ever seen. 

I then pinted myjestickly — to what do you think ? — to my 
PLUSH TiTES ! those sellabrated inigspressables which have 
rendered me famous in Yourope. 

Taking the hint, the jondarmes and the servnts rord out 
laffing ; and so did Charles Yellowplush, Esquire, I can tell 
you. Old Grippard the bailiff looked as if he would faint in his 
chare. 

I heard a kab galloping like mad out of the hotel gate, and 
knew then that my master was safe. 

31 


478 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 


Chap. VIII. — The End of Mr. Deuceace’s History. Limbo. 

My tail is droring rabidly to a close : my suvvice with Mr. 
Deuceace didn’t continyou very long after the last chapter, in 
which I described my admiral strattyjam, and my singular self- 
devocean. There’s very few servnts, I can tell you, who’d have 
thought of such a contrivance, and very few moar would have 
eggsycuted it when thought of. 

But, after all, beyond the trifling advantich to myself in sell- 
ing master’s roab de sham, which you, gentle reader, may re- 
member I woar, and in dixcovering a fipun note in one of the 
pockets, — beyond this, I say, there was to poar master very 
little advantich in what had been done. It’s true he had 
escaped. Very good. But Frans is not like Great Brittin ; a 
man in a livry coat, with i arm, is pretty easly known, and 
caught, too, as I can tell you. 

Such was the case with master. He coodn leave Paris, 
moarover, if he would. What was to become^ in that case, o£ 
his bride — his unchbacked hairis t He knew that young lady’s 
temprhnong (as the Parishers say) too well to let her long out oi 
his site. She had nine thousand a yer. She’d been in love a 
duzn times befor, and mite be agin. The Honrabble Algernon 
Deuceace was a little too wide awake to trust much to the con- 
stnsy of so very inflammable a young creacher. Heaven bless 
us, it was a marycle she wasn’t earlier married ! I do bleave 
(from suttn seans that past betwigst us) that she’d have married 
me, if she hadn’t been sejuiced by the supearor rank and in- 
dianuity of the genlmn in whose survace I was. 

Well, to use a commin igspreshn, the beaks were after him. 
How was he to manitch .? He coodn get away from his debts, 

• md he wooden quit the fare objict of his affeckshns. He was 
•sibleejd, then, as the French say, to lie perdew, — going out at 
night, like a howl out of a hivy-bush, and returning in the day- 
time to his roast. For its a maxum in France ( and I wood it 
were followed in Ingland), that after dark no man is lible for 
his detts; and in any of the royal gardens — the Twillaries, the 
Palldy Roil, or the Lucksimbug, for example — a man may wan 
der from sunrise to evening, and hear nothing of the ojus 
dunns : they an’t admitted into these places of public enjyment 
and rondyvoo any more than dogs ; the centuries at the garden 
gate having orders to shuit all such. 

Master, then, was in this uncomfrable situation — neither 


MR. DEUCEACE AT PAR IS. 


479 


liking to go nor to stay ! peeping out at nights to have an in- 
terview with his miss ; ableagd to shuffle off her repeated ques- 
tions as to the reason of all this disgeise, and to talk of his two 
thowsnd a year jest as if he had it and didn’t owe a shilling in 
the world. 

Of course, now, he began to grow mighty eager for the 
marritch. 

He roat as many noats as she had done befor ; swoai 
against delay and cerymony ; talked of the pleasures of Hyming, 
the ardship that the ardor of two arts should be allowed to 
igspire, the folly of waiting for the consent of Lady Griffin. She 
was but a step-mother, and an unkind one. Miss was (he said) 
a major, might marry whom she liked ; and suttnly had paid 
Lady G. quite as much attention as she ought, by paying her 
the compliment to ask her at all. 

And so they went on. The curious thing was, that when^ 
master was pressed about his cause for not coming out till night- 
time, he was misterus ; and Miss Griffin, when asked why she 
wooden marry, igsprest, or rather, didii't igspress, a simlar 
secrasy. Wasn’t it hard ? the cup seemed to be at the lip of 
both of ’em, and yet somehow, they could not manitch to take 
a drink. 

But one morning, in reply to a most desprat epistol wrote 
by my master over night, Deuceace, delighted, gits an answer 
from his soal’s beluffd, which ran thus : — 

MISS GRIFFIN TO THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE. 

“ Dearest, — You say you would share a cottage with me ; there is no need, luckily, for 
that! You plead the sad sinking of your spirits at our delayed union. Beloved, do you 
think vty heart rejoices at our separation ? You bid me disregard the refusal of Lady 
Griffin, and tell me that I owe her no further duty. 

“ Adored Algernon! I can refuse you no more. I was willing not to lose a single chance 
of reconciliation with this unnatural step-mother. Respect for the memory of my sainted 
father bid me do all in my power to gain her consent to my union with you ; nay, shall I 
own it? prudence dictated the measure ; for to whom should she leave the share of money 
accorded to her by my father’s will but to my father’s child. 

“ But there are bounds beyond which no forbearance can go ; and, thank heaven, we 
have no need of looking to Lady Griffin for sordid wealth : we have a competency with- 
out her. Is it not so, dearest Algernon ? 

“ Be it as you wislj then, dearest, bravest, and best. Your poor Matilda has yielded to 
t'ou her heart long ago ; she has no longer need to keep back her name. Name the hour, 
*nd I wilf delav no more ; but seek for refuge in your arms from the contumely and insult 
which meet me ever here. 

“ Matilda. 

“P.S. Oh, Algernon! if you did but know what a noble part your dear father has 
acted throughout, in doing his best endeavors to further our plans, and to soften Lady 
Griffin ! It is not his fault that she is inexorable as she is. I send you a note sent by her 
to Lord Crabs ; we will laugh at it soou, n'est-ce pas ? ” 


II. 

** My Lord,— I n reply to your demand for Miss Griffin’s hand, in favor of your son# 


480 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 


Mr. Algemon Deuceace, I can only repeat what I before have been under the necessity o{ 
stating to you, — that 1 do not believe a union with a person of Mr. Deuceace’ s character 
would conduce to my step-daughter’s happiness, and therefore refuse my coftseni. I will 
beg you to cominunicats the contents of this note to Mr. Deuceace ; and implore you no 
more to touch upon a subject which you must be aware is deeply painful to me. 

‘‘ I remain your lordship’s most humble servant, 

“ L. E. Griffin. 


“ The Right Hon. the Earl of Crabs’’ 


“ Hang her ladyship ! ” says my master, “ what care I for 
it? ” As for the old lord who’d been so afishous in his kind- 
ness and advice, master recknsiled that pretty well, with think- 
ing that his lordship knew he was going to marry ten thousand 
a year, and igspected to get some share of it; for he roat 
back the following letter to his father, as well as a flaming one 
to Miss : 

“Thank you, my dear father, for your kindness in that awkward business. You know 
how painfully I am situated just now, and can pretty well guess both the causes cf my dis- 
quiet. A marriage with my beloved Matilda will make me the happiest of men. The dear 
girl consents, and laughs at the foolish pretensions of her mother-in-law. To tell you the truth, 
I wonder she yielded to them so long. Carry your kindness a step further, and find for us 
a parson, a licence, and make us two into one. We are both major, you know : so that the 
ceremony of a guardian’s consent is unnecessary. 

“ Your affectionate 

“ Algernon Deuceace. 

“ How I regret that difference between us some time back 1 Matters are changed now, 
and shall be more still after the marriage." 

I knew what my master meant, — that he would give the old 
lord the money after he was married ; and as it was probble 
that miss would see the letter he roat, he made it such as not 
to let her see two clearly into his present uncomfrable situation. 

I took this letter along with the tender one for Miss, read- 
ing both of ’em, in course, by the way. Miss, on getting hers, 
gave an inegspressable look with the white of her i’s, kist the 
letter, and prest it to her busm. Lord Crabs read his quite 
calm, and then they fell a-talking together ; and told me to 
wait awhile, and I should git an anser. 

After a deal of counseltation, my lord brought out a card, 
and there was simply written on it. 


To-morrow^ at the Ambassador’ s, at Twelve. 


“ Carry that back to your master, Chawls,” says he, “ and 
bid him not to fail.” 

You may be sure I stept back to him pretty quick, and gave 
him the card and the messinge^ Master looked sattasfied with 


MR. DEUCEACE AT EAR/S. 


481 

both ; but suttnly not over happy ; no man is the day before 
his marridge ; much more his marridge with a hump-back, 
Harriss though she be. 

Well, as he was a-going to depart this bachelor life, he did 
what every man jn such suckmstances ought to do; he made 
his will, — that is, he made a dispasition of his property, and 
wrote letters to his creditors telling them of his lucky chance ; 
and that after his marridge he would sutnly pay them every 
stiver. Before^ they must know his povvaty well enough to be 
sure that paymint was out of the question. 

To do him justas, he seam’d to be inclined to do the thing 
that was right, now that it didn’t put him to any inkinvenients 
to do so. 

“ Chawls,” says he, handing me over a tenpun-note, ‘‘ here’s 
your w’agis, and thank you for getting me out of the scrape with 
the bailiffs : when you are married, you shall be my valet out of 
liv’ry, and I’ll treble your salary.” 

His valit! praps his butler ! Yes, thought I, here’s a chance 
— a valit to ten thousand a year. Nothing to do but to shave 
him, and read his notes, and let my whiskers grow ; to dress in 
spick and span black, and a clean shut per day ; muffings every 
night in the housekeeper’s room ; the pick of the gals in the 
servants’ hall ; a chap to clean my boots for me, and my master’s 
opera bone reglar once a week. / knew what a valit was as 
well as any genlmn in service; and this I can tell you, he’s 
genrally a hapier, idler, handsomer, mor genlmnlyman than his 
master. He has more money to spend, for genlmn w/7/ leave 
their silver in their waiscoat pockets ; more suxess among the 
gals ; as good dinners, and as good wine — that is, if he’s 
friends with the butler : and friends in corse they will be if they 
know which way their interest lies. 

But these are only cassels in the air, what the French call 
shutter iVEspang. It wasn’t roat in the book of fate that I was 
to be Mr. Deuceace’s vallit. 

Days will pass at last — even days befor a wedding (the 
longist and impleasantist day in the whole of a man’s life, I 
can tell you, excep, maybe, the day before his hanging) ; and 
,at length Aroarer dawned on the suspicious morning which was 
to unite in the bonds of Hyming the Honrable Algernon Percy 
Deuceace, Exquire, and Miss Matilda Griffin. My master’s 
wardrobe wasn’t so rich as it had been ; for he’d left the whole 
of his nicknax and trumpry of dressing-cases and rob dy shams, 
his bewtifle museum of varnished boots, his curoiis colleckshn 
of Stulz and Staub coats, when he had been ableaged to quit 


482 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. VELLOWPLUSH 

SO suclnly our pore dear lodginx at the Hotel Mirabew ; and 
being incog at a friend’s house, and contentid himself with 
ordring a coople of shoots of cloves from a common tailor, with 
a suffishnt quantaty of linning. 

Well, he put on the best of his coats — a blue ; and I thought 
it my duty to ask him whether he’d want his frock again : he 
was good-natured and said, “ Take it and be hanged to you.” 
Half-past eleven o’clock came, and I was sent to look out at 
the door, if there were any suspicious charicters (a precious 
good nose I have to find a bailiff out, I can tell you, and an i 
which will almost see one round a corner) ; and presenly a very 
modest green glass coach droave up, and in master stept. I 
didn’t, in corse, appear on the box ; because, being known, my 
appearints might have compromised master. But I took a short 
cut, and walked as quick as posbil down to the Rue de Foburg 
St. Honore, where his exlnsy the English ambasdor lives, and 
where marridges are always performed betwigst English folk at 
Paris. 

* * ^ * 

There is, almost nex door to the ambasdor’s hotel, another 
hotel, of that lo kind which the French call cabbyrays, or wine- 
- houses j and jest as master’s green glass coach pulled up, an- 
other coach drove off, out of which came two ladies, whom I 
knew pretty well, — suffiz, that one had a humpback, and the in- 
genious reader will know why she came there ; the other was 
poor Miss Kicksey, who came to see her turned off. 

Well, master’s glass coach droav up, jest as I got within a 
few yards of the door ; our carridge, I say, droav up, and stopt. 
Down gets coachmin to open the door, and comes I to give Mr. 
Deuceace an arm, when — out of the cabaray shoot four fellows, 
and draw up betwigst the coach and embassy doar ; two other 
chaps go to the other doar of the carridge, and, opening it, one 
says — “ Rendezvous, M. Deuceace ! Je avous arrete au nom de 
laloi ! ” (which means, “ Get out of that, Mr. D., you are nabbed, 
and no mistake.”) Master turned gashly pail, and sprung to 
the other side of the coach, as if a serpint had stung him. He 
flung open the door, and was for making off that way ; but he 
saNV the four chaps standing betwigst libbarty and him. He 
slams down the front window, and screams out, “ Fouettez, 
cocher ! ” (which means, “Go it, coachmin ! ”)in a despert loud 
voice ; but coachmin wooden go it, and besides was off his box. 

The long and short of the matter was, that jest as I came 
up to the door two of the bums jumped into the carridge. I 
saw all ; I knew my duty, and so very mornfiy I got up behind. 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


483 


“ Tiens/’ says one of the chaps in the street ; “ c’est ce 
drole qui nous a floue 1’ autre jour.” I knew ’em, but was too 
melumcolly to smile. 

“ Ou irons-nous done ? ” says coachmin to the genlmn who 
had got inside. 

A deep woice from the intearor shouted out in reply to the 
coachmin, “ A Sainte Pelagie ! ” 

* * * * * 

And now, praps, I ot to tiixeribe to you the humors of the 
prizn of Sainte Pelagie, which is the French for Fleat, or 
Queen’s Bentch : but on this subject I’m rather shy of writing, 
partly because the admiral Boz has, in the history of Mr. Pick- 
wick, made such a dixeripshun of a prizn, that mine wooden 
read very amyousingly afterwids ; and, also, because, to tell you 
the truth, I didn’t stay long in it, being not in a burner to waist 
my igsistance by passing away the ears of my youth in such a 
dull place. 

My fust errint now was, as you may phansy, to carry a noat 
from master to his destined bride. The poar thing was sadly 
taken aback, as I can tell you, when she found, after remaining 
two hours at the Embassy, that her husband didn’t make his 
appearance. And so, after staying on and on, and yet seeing 
no husband, she was forsed at last to trudge dishconslit home, 
where I was already waiting for her with a letter from my 
master. 

There was no use now denying the fact of his arrest, and so 
he confest it at onst ; but he made a cock-and-bull story of 
treachery of a friend, infimous fodgery, and heaven knows what. 
However, it didn’t matter much ; if he had told her that he 
had been betrayed by the man in the moon, she would have 
bleavd him. 

Lady Griffin never used to appear now at any of my visits. 
She kep one drawing-room, and Miss dined and lived alone in 
another ; they quarld so much that praps it was best they should 
live apart ; only my Lord Crabs used to see both, comforting 
each with that winning and innsnt way he had. He came in as 
Miss, in tears, was lisning to my account of master’s seazure, and 
hoping that the prisn wasn’t a horrid place, with a nasty horrid 
dunjeon, and a dreadfle jailer, and nasty horrid bread and 
water. Law bless us ! she had borrod her ideers from the 
novvles she had been reading! 

“O my lord, my lord,” says she, “have you heard this fatal 
story t " 

“Dearest Matilda, what ? For heaven’s sake, you alarm 


484 MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

me ! What — yes — no — is it — no, it can’t be ! Speak ! ” says 
my lord, seizing me by the choler of my coat. “ What has 
happened to my boy t ” 

“ Please you, my lord,” says I, “ he’s at this moment in 
prisn, no wuss, — having been incarserated about two hours 
ago.” 

“ In prison ! Algernon in prison ! ’tis impossible ! Im- 
prisoned, for what sum 1 Mention it, and I will pay to the 
utmost farthing in my power.” 

“ I’m sure your lordship is very kind,” says I (recklecting 
the sean betwixgst him and master, whom he wanted to diddil 
out of a thowsand lb.) ; “ and you’ll be happy to hear he’s only 
in for a trifle. Plve thousand pound is, I think, pretty near the 
mark.” 

“ Five thousand pounds ! — confusion ! ” says my lord, clasp- 
ing his hands, and looking up to heaven, “and I have not 
five hundred ! Dearest Matilda, how shall we help him ? ” 

“Alas, my lord, I have but three guineas, and you know 
how Lady Griffin has the ” 

“Yes, my sweet child, I know what you would say; but 
be of good cheer — Algernon, you know, has ample funds of 
his own.” 

Thinking my lord meant Dawkins’ five thousand, of which, 
to be sure, a good lump was left, I held my tung ; but I cooden 
help wondering at Lord Crabs’ igstream compashn for his son, 
and Miss, with her 10,000/. a year, having only 3 guineas in 
her pockit. 

I took home (bless us, what a home ?) a long and very in- 
flamble letter from Miss, in which she dixscribed her own 
sorror at the disappointment ; swoar she lov’d him only the 
moar for his misfortuns ; made light of them : as a pusson for 
a paltry sum of five thousand pound ought never to be cast 
down, ’specially as he had a certain independence in view ; and 
vowed that nothing, nothing, should ever injuice her to part 
from him, etsettler, etsettler. 

I told master of the conversation which had past betwigst 
me and my lord, and of his handsome offers, and his borrow 
at hearing of his son’s being taken : and likewise mentioned 
how strange it was that Miss should only have 3 guineas, and 
with such a fortn : bless us, I should have thot that she would 
always have carried a hundred thowsand lb. in her pockit ! 

At this master only said Pshaw! But the rest of the story 
about his father seemed to dixquiet him a good deal, and he 
made me repeat it over agin. 


MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS. 485 

He walked up and down the room agytated, and it seam’d 
as if a new liie was breaking in upon him. 

“ Chawls,” says he, did you observe — did Miss — did my 
father seem particularly intwiate with Miss Griffin ? ” 

“ How do you mean, sir ? ” says I. 

“ Did Lord Crabs appear very fond of Miss Griffin ? ” 

“ He was suttnly very kind to her.” 

“ Come, sir, speak at once : did Miss Griffin seem very fond 
of his lordship } ” 

“ Why, to tell the truth, sir, I must say she seemed very fond 
of him.” 

'* What did he call her } ” 

“ He called her his dearest gal.” 

“ Did he take her hand ” 

“ Yes, and he- — ” 

“ And he what ? ” 

“ He kist her, and told her not to be so wery down-hearted 
about the misfortn which had hapnd to you.” 

“ I have it now ! ” says he, clinching his fist, and growing 
gashly pail — “ I have it now — the infernal old hoary scoundrel ! 
the wicked, unnatural wretch ! He would take her from me ! ” 
And he poured out a volley of oaves which are impossbill to be 
repeatid here. 

I thot as much long ago : and when my lord kem with his 
vizits so pretious affeckshnt at my Lady Griffinses, I expected 
some such game was in the wind. Indeed, Fd heard a some- 
think of it from the Griffinses servnts, that my lord was mighty 
tender with the ladies. 

One thing, however, was evident to a man of his intleckshal 
capassaties ; he must either marry the gal at onst,‘or he stood 
very small chance of having her. He must get out of limbo 
immediantly, or his respectid father might be stepping into his 
vaykint shoes. Gh ! he saw it all now — the fust attempt at arest, 
the marridge fixtat 12 o’clock, and the bayliffs fixt to come and 
intarup the marridge ! — the jewel, praps, betwigst him and Be 
rOrge : but no, it was the woman who did that — a man don’t 
deal such fowl blows, igspecially a father to his son : a woman 
may, poar thing! — she’s no other means of reventch, and is 
used to fight with underhand wepns all her life through. 

Well, whatever the pint might be, this Deuceace saw pretty 
clear that he’d been beat by his father at his own game — a 
trapp set for him oust, which had been defitted by my presnts 
of mind — another trap set afterwids, in which my lord had been 
suxesfle. Now, my lord, roag as he was, was much too good- 


486 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 

natured to do an unkind ackshn, mearly for the sake of doing it. 
He’d got to that pich that he didn’t mind injaries — they were 
all fair play to him — he gave ’em, and reseav’d them, without 
a thought of mallis. If he wanted to injer his son, it was to 
benefick himself. And how was this to be done t By getting 
the hairiss to himself, to be sure. The Honrabble Mr. D. didn’t 
say so ; but I knew his feelinx well enough — he regretted that 
he had not given the old genlmn the money he askt for. 

Poar fello ! he thought he had hit it ; but he was wide of the 
mark after all. 

Well, but what was to be done ? It was clear that he must 
marry the gal at any rate — cootky coot., as the French say : that 

is, marry her, and hang the igspence. 

To do so he must first git out of prisn — to get out of prisn 
he must pay his debts — and to pay his debts, he must give every 
shilling he was worth. Never mind : four thousand pound is a 
small stake to a reglar gambler, igspecially when he must play 

it, or rot for life in prisn ; and when, if he plays it well, it will 
give him ten thousand a year. 

So, seeing there was no help for it, he maid up his mind, 
and accordingly wrote the follying letter to Miss Griffin : — 

“My Adored Matilda, — Your letter has indeed been a comfort to a poor fellow, who 
had hoped that this niglit would have been the most blessed in his life, and now finds him- 
self condemned to spend it within a prison w'all ! You know the accursed conspiracy which 
has brought these liabilities upon me, and the foolish friendship which has cost me so much. 
But what matters ! We have, as you say, enough, even though I must pay this shameful 
demand upon me ; and five thousand pounds are as nothing, compared to the happiness 
which I lose in being separated a night from thee! Courage, however! If I make a sacri- 
fice it is for you ; and I were heartless indeed if I allowed my own losses to balance for a 
moment against your happiness. 

“ Is it not so, beloved one ? Is not your happiness bound up with mine, in a union with 
me? I am proud to think so — proud, too, to offer such a humble proof as this of the depth 
and purity of my affection. 

“ Tell me that you will still be mine ; tell me that you will be mine to-morrow ; and to- 
morrow' these vile chains shall be removed, and I will be free once more — or if bound, only 
bound to you! My adorable Matilda! my betrothed bride ! write to me ere the evening 
closes, for I shall never be able to shut my eyes in slumber upon my prison couch, until 
they have been first blessed by the sight of a few words from thee! Write to me, love 1 
write to me ! I languish for the reply which is to make or mar me for ever. 

Your affectionate 

“A. P. D.’ 

Having polisht off this epistol, master intriistid it to me to 
carry", and bade me at the same time to try and give it into 
Miss Griffin’s hand alone. I ran with it to Lady Griffinses. I 
found Miss, as I desired, in a sollatary condition ; and I pre- 
sented her with master’s pafewmed Billy. 

She read it, and the number of size to which she gave vint, 
and the tears which she shed, beggar digscription. She wep 
and sighed until I thought she would bust. She even claspt 


MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS. 487 

my hand in her’s, and said, “O Charles ! is he very, very 
miserable ? ■’ 

“ He is, ma’am,” says I ; “ very miserable indeed — nobody, 
upon my honor, could be miserablerer.” 

On hearing this pethetic remark, her mind was made up at 
oust : and sitting down to her eskrewtaw, she immediately 
ableaged master with an answer. Here it is in black and white : 

“ My prisoned bird shall pine no more, but fly home to its nest in these arms ! Adored 
Algernon, I will meet thee to-morrow, at the same place, at the same hour. Then, then, it 
will be impossible for aught but death to divide us. M. G.” 

This kind of flumry style comes, you see, of reading 
novvles, and cultivating littery purshuits in a small way. How 
much better is it to be puffickly ignorant of the hart of writing, 
and to trust to the writing of the heart. This is ?ny style : 
artyfiz I despise, and trust compleatly to natur : but revnong a 
no 7nootong, as our continential friends remark : to that nice 
white sheep, Algernon Percy Deuceace, Exquire ; that wenrabble 
old ram, my Lord Crabs his father ; and that tender and 
dellygit young lamb. Miss Matilda Griffin. 

She had just foalded up into its proper triangular shape the 
noat transcribed abuff, and I was just on the point of saying, 
according to my master’s orders, “ Miss, if you please, the 
Honrabble Mr. Deuceace would be very much ableaged to you 
to keep the seminary which is to take place to-morrow a pro-- 

found se ,” when my master’s father entered, and I fell 

back to the door. Miss, without a word, rusht into his arms, 
burst into teers agin, as was her reglar way (it must be contest 
she was of a very mist constitution), and showing to him his 
son’s note, cried, “ Look, my dear lord, how nobly your Alger- 
non, our Algernon, writes to me. Who can doubt, after this, 
of the purity of his matchless affection t ” 

My lord took the letter, read it, seamed a good deal 
amyoused, and returning it to its owner, said, very much to my 
surprise, “ My dear Miss Griffin, he certainly does seem in 
earnest ; and if you choose to make this match without the 
consent of your mother-in-law, you know the consequence, and 
are of course your own mistress.” 

“ Consequences ! — for shame, my lord ! A little money, 
more or less, what matters it to two hearts like ours ?” 

“ Hearts are very pretty things, my sweet young lady, but 
Three-per-Cents. are better.” 

“ Nay, have we not an ample income of our own, without 
the aid of Lady Griffin ? ” 


488 the memoirs or MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

My lord shrugged his shoulders. “ Be it so, my love,” says 
he- “ I’m sure I can have no other reason to prevent a union 
which is founded upon such. disinterested affection.” 

And here the conversation dropped. Miss retired, clasping 
her hands and making play with the whites of her i’s. My 
lord began trotting up and down the room, with his fat hands 
stuck in his britchis pockits, his countnince lighted up with 
igstream joy, and singing, to my inordnit igstonishment : 

“ See the conquering hero comes! 

Tiddy diddy doll — tiddydoll, doll, doll.” 

He began singing this song, and tearing up and down the room 
like mad. I stood amazd — a new light broke in upon me. He 
wasn’t going, then, to make love to Miss Griffin 1 Master 
might marry her ! Had she not got the for-- — ? 

I say, I was just standing stock still, my eyes fixt, my hands 
puppindicklar, my mouf wide open and these igstrordinary 
thoughts passing in my mind, when my lord having got to the 
last “ doll ” of his song, just as I came to the sillible “ for ” of 
my ventriloquism, or inward speech — we had eatch jest 
reached the pint digscribed, when the meditations of both were 
sudnly stopt, by my lord, in the midst of his singin and trottin 
match, coming bolt up aginst poar me, sending me up aginst 
one end of the room, himself flying back to the other : and it 
was only after considrabble agitation that we were at length 
restored to anything like a liquilibrium. 

What, you here, your infernal rascal ? ” says my lord. 

“ Your lordship’s very kind to notus me,” says I ; “ I am 
here.” And I gave him a look. 

He saw I knew the whole game. 

And after whisling a bit, as was his habit when puzzled (I 
bleave he’d have only whisled if he had been told he was to be 
hanged in five minits), after whisling a bit, he stops sudnly, and 
coming up to me, says : 

Hearkye, Charles, this marriage must take place to-mor- 
row.” 

“ Must it, sir ? says I ; “ now, for my part, I don’t think — ” 

“ Stop my good fellow ; if it does not take place, what do 
you gain ? ” 

This stagger’d me. If it didn’t take place, I only lost a sit- 
uation, for master had just enough money to pay his detts ; and 
it wooden soot my book to serve him in prisn or starving. 

“ Well,” says my lord, “ you see the force of my argument. 
Now, look here ! ” and he lugs out a crisp, fluttering, snowy 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


489 

HUNDRED-PUN NOTE ! “ If my son and Miss Griffin are married 
to-morrow, you shall have this ; and I will, moreover, take you 
into my service, and give you double 5'our present wages.” 

Flesh and blood cooden bear it. “ My lord,” says I, laying 
my hand upon my busm, only give me security,” and I’m yours 
for ever.” 

The old noblemin grin’d, and pattid me on the shoulder. 
“ Right, my lad,” says he, “ right — you’re a nice promising 
youth. Here is the best security.” And he pulls out his pocket- 
book, returns the hundred-pun bill, and takes out one for fifty. 
“Here is half to-day ; to-morrow you shall have the remainder.” 

My fingers trembled a little as I took the pretty fluttering 
bit of paper, about five times as big as any sum of money I had 
ever had in my life. I cast my i upon the amount : it was a 
fifty sure enough— a bank poss-bill, made payable to Leonora 
Emilia Griffin.^ and indorsed by her. The cat was out of the 
bag. Now, gentle reader, I spose you begin to see the game. 

“ Recollect, from this day you are in my service.” 

“ My lord, you overpoar me with your faviours.” 

“Go to the devil, sir,” says he : “do your duty, and hold 
your tongue.” 

And thus I went from the service of the Honorable Al- 
.gernon Deuceace to that of his exlnsy the Right Honorabbie 
Earl of Crabs. 

* :^ * * * * * 

On going back to prisn, I found Deuceace locked up in that 
oajus place to which his igstravygansies had deservedly led him ; 
and felt for him, I must say, a great deal of contemp. A raskle 
such as he — a swindler, who had robbed poar Dawkins of the 
means of igsistance ; who had cheated his fellow-roag, Mr. 
Richard Blewitt, and who was making a musnary marridge with 
a disgusting creacher like Miss Griffin, didn merit any compashn 
on my purt and I determined quite to keep secret the suckm- 
stansies of my privit intervew with his exlnsy my present 
master. 

I gev him Miss Griffinses trianglar, which he read with a 
satisfied air. Then, turning to me, says he : “You gave this 
to Miss Griffin alone ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ You gave her my message ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And you are quite sure Lord Crabs was not there when 
you gave either the message or the note ? ” 

“ Not there upon my honor,” says I. 


490 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELL0WP7MSH. 

“ Hang your honor, sir ! Brush my hat and coat, and go 

call a coach — do you hear ? ” 

******* 

I did as I was ordered ; and on coining back found master 
in what’s called, I think, the greffe of the prisn. The officer in 
waiting had out a great register, and was talking to master in 
the French tongue, in coarse ; a number of poar prisners were 
looking eagerly on. 

“ Let us see, my lor,” says he ; the debt is 98,700 francs ; 
there are capture expenses, interest so much ; and the whole 
sum amounts to a hundred thousand francs, moins 13.” 

Deuceace, in a very myjestic way, takes out of his pocket- 
book four thowsnd pun notes. “This is not French money, 
but I presume that you know it, M. Greffier,” says he. 

The greffier turned round to old Solomon, a money-changer, 
who had one or two clients in the prisn, and hapnd luckily to 
be there.' “ Les billets sont bons,” says he. “ Je les prendrai 
pour cent mille douze cent francs, et j’esphre, my lor, de vous 
re voir.” 

“ Good,” says the greffier ; “ I know them to be good, and 
I will give my lor the difference, and make out his release.” 

Which was done. The poar debtors gave a feeble cheer, as 
the great dubble iron gates swung open and clang to again, 
and Deuceace stept out, and me after him, to breathe the fresh 
hair. 

He had been in the place but six hours, and was now free 
again — free, and to be married to ten thousand a yearnex day. 
But, for all that, he lookt very faint and pale. He had put 
down his great stake ; and when he came out of Sainte Pelagie, 
he had but fifty pounds left in the world ! 

Never mind — when onst the money’s down, make your mind 
easy ; and so Deuceace did. He drove back to the Hotel 
Mirabew, where he ordered apartmince infinately more splendid 
than befor ; and I pretty soon told Toinette, and the rest of 
the suvvants, how nobly he behayved, and how he valyoud four 
thousand pound no more than ditch water. And such was the 
consquincies of my praises, and the poplarity I got for us boath, 
that the delighted landlady immediantly charged him dubble 
what she would have done, if it hadn been for my stoaries. 

He ordered splendid apartmince; then, for the nex week ; a 
carridge-and-four for Fontainebleau to-morrow at 12 precisely; 
and having settled all these things, went quietly to the “ Roshy 
de Cancale,” where he dined : as well he might, for it was now 
eight o’clock. I didn’t spare the shompang neither that night, 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


491 


I can tell you ; for when I carried the note he gave me for Miss 
Griffin in the evening, informing her of his freedom, that young 
lady remarked my hagitated manner of walking and speaking, 
and said, “ Honest Charles ! he is flusht with the event of the 
day. Here, Charles, is a napoleon ; take it and drink to your 
mistress.” 

I pockitid it ; but, I must say, I didn’t like the money — it 
went against my stomick to take it. 


Chap. IX. — The Marriage. 

Well, the nex day came: at 12 the carridge-and-four was 
waiting at the ambasdor’s doar ; and Miss Griffin and the 
faithfle Hicksey were punctial to the apintment. 

I don’t wish to digscribe the marridge seminary — how the 
embasy chapling jined the hands of this loving young couple- 
how one of the embasy footmin was called in to witness the 
marridge — how Miss wep and fainted, as usial — ^and how Deuce- 
ace carried her, fainting, to the brisky, and drove off to Fon- 
tingblo, where they were to pass the fust weak of the honey- 
moon. They took no servnts, because they wisht, they said, to 
be privit. And so, when I had shut up the steps, and bid the 
postilion drive on, I bid ajew to the Honrabble Algernon, and 
went off strait to his exlent father. 

“ Is it all over, Chawls ? ” said he. 

“I saw them turned off at igsackly a quarter past 12, my 
lord,” says I. 

“ Did you give Miss Griffin the paper, as I told you, before 
her marriage } ” 

“ I did, my lord, in the presents of Mr. Brown, Lord Bob- 
tail’s man ; who can swear to her having had it.” 

I must tell you that my lord had made me read a paper 
which Lady Griffin had written, and which I was comishnd to 
give in the manner menshnd abuff. It ran to this effect : — 

“According to the authority given me by the will of my late dear husband, I forbid 
the marriage of Miss Griffin with the Honorable Algernon Percy Deuceace. If Miss 
Griffin persists in the union, I warn her that she must abide by the consequences of her act. 

“ Leonora Emilia Griffin.” 

“ Rue de Rivoli, May 8, i8i8.” 

When I gave this to Miss as she entered the cortyard, a 
minnit before my master’s arrivle, she only read it contempti- 
ously, and said, “ I laugh at the threats of Lady Griffin ; ” and 


492 


THE MEMOIRS OE MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 


she toar the paper in two, and walked on, leaning on the arm 
of the faithful and obleaging Miss Kicksey. 

I picked up the paper for fear of axdents, and brot it to my 
lord. Not that there was any necessaty ; for he’d kep a copy, 
and made me and another witniss (my Lady Griffin’s solissator) 
read them both, before he sent either away. 

“Good ! ” says he ; and he projuiced from his potfolio the 
fello of that bewchus fifty-pun note, which he’d given me yes- 
terday. “ I keep my promise, you see, Charles,” says he. 
“ You are now in Lady Griffin’s service, in the place of Mr. Fitz- 
clarence, who retires. Go to Froje’s, and get a livery.” 

“ But, my lord,” says I, “ I was not to go into Lady Griffin- 
ses service, according to the bargain, but into ” 

“ It’s all the same thing,” says he ; and he walked off. I 
went to Mr. Froje’s, and ordered a new livry ; and found, lik- 
wise, that our coachmin and Munseer Mortimer had been there 
too. My lady’s liver}^ was changed, and was now of the same 
color as my old coat at Mr. Deuceace’s ; and I’m blest if there 
wasn’t a tremenjious great earl’s corronit on the butins, instid 
of the Griffin rampint, which was worn befoar. 

I asked no questions, however, but had myself measured ; 
and slep that night at the Plas Vandome. I didn’t go out with 
the carridge for a day or two, though ; my lady only taking 
one footmin, she said, until her new carridge was turned out 

I think you can guess what’s in the wind 7iow / 

I bot myself a dressing-case, a box of Ody colong, a few 
duzen lawn sherts and neckcloths, and other things which were 
necessary for a genlmn in my rank. Silk stockings was pro- 
vided by the rules of the house. And I completed the bisniss 
by writing the following ginteel letter to my late master : — 

“CHARLES YELLOWPLUSH, ESQUIRE, TO THE HONORABLE 
A. P. DEUCEACE. 

“SoR, — Suckmstansies have aciird sins I last had the honner of wating on you, which 
render it impossibil that 1 should remane any longer in your suvvice. I’ll thank you to 
leave out my thinx, when they come home on Sattady from the wash. 

“ Your obeajnt servnt, 

Charles Yellowplush.’' 

“ Plas Venddme:'' 

The athography of the abuv noat, I confess, is atrocious ; 
but ke voolyvoo ? I was only eighteen, and hadn then the ex- 
pearance in writing which I’ve enjide sins. 

Having thus done my jewty in evry way, I shall prosead, in 
the nex chapter, to say what hapnd in my new place. 


DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


493 


Chap. X. — The Honey-Moon. 

The weak at Fontingblow past quickly away ; and at the 
end of it, our son and daughter-in-law — a pare of nice young 
tuttle-duvs — returned to their nest, at the Hotel Mirabew. I 
suspeck that the cock turtle-dove was preshos sick of his 
barging. 

•When they arriv’d, the fust thing they found on their table 
was a large parsle wrapt up in silver paper, and a newspaper, 
and a couple of cards, tied up with a peace of white ribbing. 
In the parsle was a hansume piece of plum-cake, with a deal of 
sugar. On the cards was wrote, in Goffick characters 



And in the paper was the following parrowgraff : — 

“ Marriage ik High Life. — Yesterday, at the British embassy, the Right Honorable 
John Augustus Altamont Plantagenet, Earl of Grabs, to Leonora Emilia, widow of the late 
Lieutenant-General Sir George Griffin, K. C. B. An elegant dejeunS was given to the 
happy couple by his Excellency Lord Bobtail, who gave away the bride. The ilite^ of the 
foreign diplomacy, the Prince Talleyrand and Marshal the Duke of Dalmatia bn behalf of 
H. M. the King of France, honored the banquet and the marriage ceremony. Lord and 
Lady Crabs intend passing a few weeks at Saint Cloud.” 

The above dockyments, along with my own triffling billy, of 
which I have also givn a copy, greated Mr. and Mrs. Deuceace 
on their arrivle from Fontingblo, Not being present, I can’t 
say what Deuceace said ; but I can fancy how he lookt^ and how 
poor Mrs. Deuceace lookt. They weren’t much incline to rest 
after the fiteeg of the junny ; for, in ^ an hour after their 
arrival at Paris, the bosses were put to the carridge agen, and 
down they came thundering to our country-house at St. Cloud 
(pronounst by those absud Frenchmin Sing Kloo), to interrup 
our chaste love and delishs marridge injyments. 

My lord was sittn in a crimson satan dressing-gown, lolling 




494 MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

on a sofa at an open' windy, smoaking seagars, as ushle ; hev 
ladyship, who, to du her justice, didn mind the smell, occupied 
another end of the room, and was working, in wusted, a pare of 
slippers, or an umbrellore case, or a coal-skittle, or some such 
nonsints. You would have thought to have sean ’em that they 
had been married a sentry, at least. Well, I bust in upon this 
conjugal tator-tator, and said, very much alarmed, “ My lord, 
here’s your son and daughter-in-law.” 

“ Well,” says my lord, quite calm, “ and what then ? ” 

“ Mr. Deuceace ! ” says my lady, starting up, and looking 
fritened. 

“Yes, my love, my son; but you need not be, alarmed. 
Pray, Charles, say that Lady Crabs and I will be very happy to 
see Mr. and Mrs. Deuceace ; and that they must excuse us 
receiving them en fa7nille. Sit still, my blessing — take things 
coolly. Have you got the box with the papers ? ” 

My lady pointed to a great green box — the same from which 
she had taken the papers, when Deuceace fust saw them, — and 
handed over to my lord a fine gold key. I went out, met 
Deuceace and his wife on the stepps, gave my messinge, and 
bowed them palitely in. 

My lord didn’t rise, but smoaked away as usual (praps, a 
littje quicker, but I can’t say) ; my lady sat upright, looking * 
handsum and strong. Deuceace walked in, his left arm tied to 
his breast, his wife and hat on the other. He looked very pale 
and frightened ; his wife, poar thing ! had her head berried in 
her handkerchief, and sobd fit to break her heart. 

Miss Kicksey, who was in the room (but I didn’t mention 
her, she was less than nothink in our house), went up to Mrs. 
Deuceace at onst, and held out her arms — she had a heart, 
that old Kicksey, and I respect her for it. The poor hunch- 
back flung herself info Miss’s arms, with a, kind of whooping 
screech, and kep there for some time, sobbing in quite a 
historical manner. I saw there was going to be a sean, and so, 
in cors, left the door ajar. 

“ Welcome to Saint Cloud, Algy my boy ! ” says my lord, in 
a loud, hearty voice. “You thought you w’ould give us the 
slip, eh, you rogue ? But we knew it, my dear fellow : we knew 
the whole affair — did we not, my soul ? — and you see, kept our 
secret better than you did yours.” 

“ I must confess, sir,” says Deuceace, bowing, “ that I had 
no idea of the happiness which awaited me in the shape of a 
mother-in-law.” 

“ No, you dog ; no, no,” says my lord, giggling : “ old birds, 


MR. DEUCEACE AT FAR/S. 


495 


you know, not to be caught with chaff, like young ones. But 
here we are, all spliced and happy, at last. Sit down, Algernon ; 
let us smoke a segar, and talk over the perils and adventures 
of the last month. My love,” says my lord, turning to his lady, 
“ you have no malice against poor Algernon, I trust ? Pray 
shake Ais handF (A grin.) 

But my lady rose and said, “ I have told Mr. Deuceace, that 
I never wished to see him, or speak to him, more. I see no 
reason, now, to change my opinion.” And herewith she sailed 
out of the room, by the door through which Kicksey had carried 
poor Mrs. Deuceace. 

“ Well, well,” says my lord, as Lady Crabs swept by, “ I 
was in hopes she had forgiven you ; but I know the whole story, 
and I must confess you used her cruelly ill. Two strings to 
your bow ! — that was your game, was it, you rogue ? ” 

“ Do you mean, my lord, that you know all that past 
between me and Lady Grif — Lady Crabs, before our quarrel ? ” 

“ Perfectly — you made love to her, and she was almost in 
love with you ; you jilted her for money, she got a man to shoot 
your hand off in revenge : no more dice-boxes, now, Deuceace ; 
no more saiiter la coupe. I can’t think how the deuce you will 
manage to live without them.” 

“ Your lordship is very kind ; but I have given up play alto- 
gether,” says Deuceace, looking mighty black and uneasy. 

“Oh, indeed ! Benedick has turned a moral man, has he ? 
This is better and better. Are you thinking of going into the 
church, Deuceace ? ” 

“ My lord, may I ask you to be a little more serious ? ” 

“ Serious ! a quoi don ? I am serious — serious in my surprise 
that, when you might have had either of these women, you 
should have preferred that hideous wife of yours.” 

“ May I ask you, in turn, how you came to be so little 
squeamish about a wife, as to choose a woman who had just 
been making love to your own son ? ” says Deuceace, growing 
fierce. 

“ How can you ask such a question ? I owe forty thousand 
pounds — there is an execution at Sizes Hall — every acre I have 
is in the hands of my creditors ; and that’s why I married her. 
Do you think there was any love ? Lady Crabs is a dev’lish 
fine woman, but she’s not a fool — she married me for my 
coronet, and I married her for her money.” 

“ Well, my lord, you need not ask me, I think, why I mar- 
ried the daughter-in-law.” 

“ Yes, but I do, my dear boy. How the deuce are you to 


496 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

live ? Dawkins’s five thousand pounds won’t last for ever ; and 
afterwards ? ” 

“ You don’t mean, my lord — you don’t — I mean, you can^t 

D — ! ” says he, starting up, and losing all patience, “ you 

don’t dare to say that Miss Griffin had not a fortune of ten 
thousand a year ? ” 

My lord was rolling up, and wetting betwigst his lips, 
another segar ; he lookt up, aft^r he had lighted it, and said 
quietly — 

“ Certainly, Miss Griffin had a fortune of ten thousand a year.” 

“ Well, sir, and has she not got it now } Has she spent it 
in a week ? ” 

“ S/ie has not got a sixpence now : she married without her 
mother's cofisentl^^ 

Deuceace sunk down in a chair ; and I never see such a 
dreadful picture of despair as there was in the face of that 
retchid man ! — he writhed, and nasht his teeth, he tore open 
his coat, and wriggled madly the stump of his left hand, until, 
fairly beat, he threw it over his livid pale face, and sinking 
backwards, fairly wept alowd. 

Bah ! it’s a dreddfle thing to hear a man crying ! his pashn 
torn up from the very roots of his heart, as it must be before it 
can git such a vent. My lord, meanwhile, rolled his segar, 
lighted it, and went on. 

“ My dear boy, the girl has not a shilling. I wished to have 
left you alone in peace, with your four thousand pounds ; you 
might have lived decently upon it in Germany, where money is 
at 5 per cent., where your duns would not find you, and a couple 
of hundred, a year would have kept you and your wife in com- 
fort. But, you see. Lady Crabs would not listen to it. You 
had injured her ; and, after she had tried to kill you and failed, 
she determined to ruin you, and succeeded. I must own to 
you that I directed the arresting business, and put her up to 
buying your protested bills : she got them for a trifle, and as 
you have paid them, has made a good two thousand pounds by 
her bargain. It was a painful thing to be sure, for a father to 
get his son arrested ; but que voulez-vous ? I did not appear in 
the transaction : she would have you ruined ; and it was 
absolutely necessary t\\2A you should marry before I could, so I 
pleaded your cause with Miss Griffin, and made you the happy 
man you are. You rogue, you rogue ! you thought to match 
your old father, did you ? But, never mind ; lunch will be ready 
soon. In the meantime, have a segar, and drink a glass of 
Sauterne.” 


MR. DEUCE ACE AT PARIS. 


497 

- Deuceace, who had been listening to this speech, sprung up 
wildly. 

“ ril not believe it,” he said : “ it’s a lie, an infernal lie ! 
forged by you, you hoary villain, and by the murderess and 
strumpet you have married. I’ll not believe it : show me the 
will. Matilda ! Matilda !” shouted he, screaming hoarsely, and 
flinging open the door by which she had gone out. 

“ Keep your temper, my boy. You are vexed, and I feel 
for you : but don’t use such bad language : it is quite needless, 
believe me.” 

“ Matilda ! ” shouted out Deuceace again ; and the poor 
crooked thing came trembling in, followed by Miss Kicksey. ^ 

“ Is this true, woman ? ” says he, clutching hold of her 
hand. 

“ What, dear Algernon ? ” says she. 

“ What ? ” screams out Deuceace,— “ what Why that you 
are a beggar, for marrying without your mother’s consent — that 
you basely lied to me, in order to bring about this match — that 
you are a swindler, in conspiracy with that old fiend yonder and 
the she-devil his wife ? ” 

“ It is true,” sobbed the poor woman,” “that I have nothing ; 
but ” 

“ Nothing but what ? Why don’t you speak, you drivelling 
fool?” 

“ I have nothing ! — but you, dearest, have two thousand a 
year. Is that not enough for us? You love me for myself, 
don’t you, Algernon? You have told me so a thousand times 
— say so again, dear husband ; and do not, do not be so 
unkind.” And here she sank on her knees, and clung to him, 
and tried to catch his hand, and kiss it. 

“ How much did you say ? ” says my lord. 

“ Two thousand a year, sir ; he has told us so a thousand 
times.” 

Two thousand! Two thou — ho, ho, ho! — haw! haw! 
haw ! ” roars my lord. “ That is, I vow, the best thing I ever 
heard in my life. My dear creature, he has not a shilling — not 
a single maravedi, by all the gods and goddesses.” And this 
exlnt noblemin began laflin louder than ever : a very kind and 
feeling genlmn he was, as all must confess. 

There was a paws : and Mrs. Deuceace didn begin cussing 
and swearing at her husband as he had done at her : she only 
said, “ O Algernon ! is this true ? ” and got up, and went to a 
chair and wep in quiet. 

My lord opened the great box. “ If you or your lawyers 


498 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

would like to examine Sir George’s will, it is quite at your ser- 
vice ; you will see here the ^Droviso which I mentioned, that 
gives the entire fortune to Lady Griffin — Lady Grabs that is ; 
and here, my dear boy, yoii see the danger of hasty conclusions. 
Her ladyship only showed you the first page ofi the will., of course 
she wanted to try you. You thought you made a great stroke 
in at once proposing to Miss Griffin — do not mind it, my love, 
he really loves you now very sincerely ! — when, in fact, you 
would have done much better to have read the rest of the will. 
You were completely bitten, my boy — humbugged, bamboozled 
— ay, and by your old father, you dog. I told you I would, you 
*know, when you refused to lend me a portion of your Dawkins 
money. I told you I would ; and I did. I had you the very 
next day. Let this be a lesson to you, Percy my boy ; don’t 
try your luck again against such old hands ; look deuced well 
before you leap : aiidi alteram partcfii^ my lad, which means, 
read both sides of the wall. I think lunch is ready : but I see 
you don’t smoke. Shall we go in ? ” 

“ Stop, my lord,” says Mr. Deuceace, very humble : “ I 
.shall not share your hospitality — but — but you know my condi- 
tion ; I am penniless — you know the manner in w^hich my wdfe 
has been brought up ” 

“ The Honorable Mrs. Deuceace, sir, shall always find a 
home here, as if nothii^ had occurred to interrupt the friend- 
ship between her dear mother and herself.” 

“ And for me, sir,” says Deuceace, speaking faint, and 
very slow ; “ I hope — I trust — I think, my lord, you will not 
forget me .? ” 

“ Forget you, sir ; certainly not.’ ' 

“ And that you will make some provision ? ” 

“Algernon Deuceace,” says my lord, getting up from the 
sophy, and looking at him with sich a jolly malignity, as 1 
never see, “ I declare, before heaven, that I will not give you a 
penny ! ” 

Hereupon my lord held out his hand to Mrs. Deuceace, and 
said, “ My dear, will you join your mother and me ? We shall 
always, as I said, have a home for you.” 

“ My lord,” said the poar thing, dropping a curtsey, “ my 
home is with liwi 

******* 

****** 

******* 

About three months after, when the season was beginning 
at Paris, and the autumn leafs was on the ground, my lord, my 


MR, DEUCEACE AT PARIS. 


499 

lady, me and Mortimer, were taking a stroal in the Boddy 
Balong, the carridge driving on slowly ahead, and us as happy 
as possbill, admiring the pleasant woods and the goldn sunset. 

My lord was expayshating to my lady upon the exquizit 
beauty of the scan, and pouring forth a host of butifle and vir- 
tuous sentaments sootable to the hour. It was dalitefle to hear 
him. “ Ah ! ” said he, “ black must be the heart, my love, 
which does not feel the influence of a scene like this ; gathering 
as it were, from those sunlit skies, a portion of their celestial 
gold, and gaining somewhat of heaven with each pure draught 
of this delicious air ! ” 

Lady Crabs did not speak, but prest his arm and looked up- 
wards. Mortimer and I, too, felt some of the infliwents of the 
sean and lent on our goold sticks in silence. The carriage 
drew up close to us, and my lord and my lady sauntered slowly 
tords it. 

Jest at the place was a bench, and on the bench sate a 
poorly drest woman, and by her, leaning against a tree, was a 
man whom I thought I’d sean befor. He was drest in a shabby 
blew coat, with white seems and copper buttons ; a torn hat 
was on his head, and great quantaties cf matted hair and 
wiskers disfiggared his countnints. He was not shaved, and 
as pale as stone. 

My lord and lady didn’t tak the slightest notice of him, 
but past on to the carridge. Me and Mortimer lickwise took our 
places. As we past, the man had got a grip of the woman’s 
shoulder, who was holding down her head sobbing bitterly. 

No sooner were my lord and lady seated, than they both, 
with igstream dellixy and good natur, bust into a ror of lafter, 
peal upon peal, whooping and screaching enough to frighten 
the evening silents. 

Deuceace turned round. I see his face now — the face of 
a dewle of hell ! Fust, he lookt towards the carridge, and 
pinted to it with his maimed arm ; then he raised the other, 
and struck the woman by his side. She fell, screaming. 

Poor thing 1 Poor thing I 


500 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH, 


MR. YELLOWPLUSH’S AJEW. 

The end of Mr, Deuceace’s history is going to be the end 
of my corrispondince, I wish the public was as sory to part 
with me as I am with the public ; becaws I fansy reely that 
we’ve become frends, and feal for my part a becoming greaf at 
saying ajew. 

It’s impossbill for me to continyow, however, a-writin, as I 
have done — violettin^ the rules of authography, and trampling 
upon the fust princepills of English grammar. When I began, 
I knew no better : when I’d carrid on these papers a little fur- 
ther, and grew accustmd to writin, I began to smel out some- 
think quear- in my style. Within the last sex weaks I have 
been learning to spell : and when all the world was rejoicing at 
the festivvaties of our youthful Quean — * when all i’s were fixt 
upon her long sweet of ambasdors and princes, following the 
splendid carridge of Marshle the Duke of Damlatiar, and blink- 
ing at the pearls and dimince of Prince Oystereasy — Yellow- 
plush was in his loanly pantry — his eyes were fixt upon the 
spelling-book — his heart was bent upon mastring the diffickle- 
ties of the littery professhn. I have been, in fact, convertid. 

You shall here how. Ours, you know, is a Wig house ; and 
ever sins his third son has got a place in the Treasur}^ his 
secknd a captingsy in the Guards, his fust, the secretary of em- 
basy at Pekin, with a prospick of being appinted ambasdor at 
Loo Choo — ever sjns master’s sons have reseaved these atten- 
tions, and master himself has had the proniis of a pearitch, he 
has been the most, reglar, consistnt, honrabble Libbaral, in or 
out of the House of Commins. 

Well, being a Whig, it’s the fashn, as you know, to reseave 
littery pipple ; and accordingly, at dinner, tother day, whose 
name do' you think I had to hollar out on the fust lanjding-pl ace 
about a wick ago ? After several dukes and markises had been 
enounced, a very gentell, fly drives up to our doar, and out 
steps two gentlemen. One was pail, and wor spektickles, a wig, 
and a white neckcloth. The other was slim with a hook nose, 
a pail fase, a small waist, a pare of falling shoulders, a tight 
coat, and a catarack of black satting tumbling out of his busm, 
and falling into a gilt velvet weskit. The little genlmn settled 

♦ This was written in 1838. 


MR. YELLOWP LUSH’S A JEW. 


SOI 

his wigg, and pulled out his ribbins ; the younger one fluffed 
the dust of his shoos, looked at his wishers in a little pockit- 
glas, settled his crevatt ; and they both mounted up stairs. 

“ What name, sir,? ” says I, to the old genlmn. 

“Name! — a! now, you thief o’ the wurrld,” says he, “ do 
you pretind nat to know me 1 Say it’s the Cabinet Cyclopa — 
no, I mane the Litherary Chran — psha ! — bluthanowns ! — say 
it’s Docthor Dioclesian Larner — I think he’ll know me now 
— ay, Nid ? ” But the genlmn called Nid was at the botm of 
the stare, and pretended to be very busy with his shoo-string. 
So the little genlmn went up stares alone. 

“ Doctor Diolesius Larner I ” says I. 

“ Doctor Athanasius Lardner ! ” says Greville Fitz-Roy, 
our secknd footman, on the fust landing-place. 

“ lUoctor SgnatitI0 Cogola ! ” says the groom of the cham- 
bers, who pretends to be a schollar ; and in the little genlmn 
w^ent. When safely housed, the other chap came ; and when I 
asked him his name, said, in a thick, gobbling kind of voice : 

“ Sawed wadgeorgeearllittnbul wig.” 

“ Sir what .? ” says I, quite agast at the name. 

“ Sawedwad — no, I mean J/A/^^e/edwad Lyttn Bulwig.” 

My neas trembled under me, my i’s fild with tiers, my voice 
shook, as I past up the venrabble name to the other footman, 
and saw this fust of English writers go up to the drawing- 
room ! 

It’s needless to mention the names of the rest of the com- 
pny, or to dixcribe the suckmstansies of the dinner. Suffiz to 
say that the two littery genlmn behaved very well, and seamed 
to have good appytights ; igspecially the little Irishman in the 
whig, who et, drunk, and talked as much as ^ a duzn. He 
told how he’d been presented at cort by his friend, Mr. Bul- 
wig, and how the Quean had received ’em both, with a dignity 
undigscribable ; and how her blessid Majisty asked what was the 
bony fidy sale of the Cabinit Cyclopaedy, and how he (Doctor 
Larner) told her that, on his honner, it was under ten thowsnd. 

You may guess that the Doctor, when he made this speach, 
was pretty far gone. The fact is, that whether it was the coro- 
nation, or the goodness of the wine (cappitle it is in our house, 
/can tell you), or the natral propensaties of the gests assem- 
bled, which made them so igspecially jolly, I don’t know ; but 
they had kep up the meating pretty late, and our poar butler 
was quite tired with the perpechual baskits of clarrit which 
he’d been called upon to bring up. So that about 1 1 o’clock, 
if I were to say they were merry, I should use a mild term ; 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. /. YELLOWPLUSH 


502 

if I wer to say they were intawsicated, I should use an igs- 
presshn more near to the truth, but less rispeckful in one of 
my situashn. 

The cumpany reseaved this annountsmint with mute exton- 
ishment. 

“ Pray, Doctor Lardner,” says a spiteful genlmn, willing to 
keep up the littery conversation, “ what is the Cabinet Cyclo- 
paedia ? ’’ 

“ It’s the littherary wontherr of the wurrld,” says he ; “ and 
sure your lordship must have seen it ; the latther numbers 
ispicially — cheap as durrt, bound in gleezed calico, six shil- 
lings a vollum. The illusthrious neems of Walther Scott, 
Thomas Moore, Docther Southey, Sir James Mackintosh, Doc- 
ther Donovan, and meself, are to be found in the list of con- 
thributors. It’s the Phaynix of Cyclopajies — a litherary Ba- 
con.” 

“ A what ? ” says the genlmn nex to him. 

“ A Bacon, shining in the darkness of our age ; fild wid 
the pure end lambent flame of science, burning with the gorr- 
geous scintillations of divine litherature — a monumintum., in 
fact, are perinnius., bound in a pink calico, six shillings a vol- 
lum.” 

This wigmawole,” said Mr. Bulwig (who seemed rather 
disgusted that his friend should take up so much of the convas- 
sation), “ this wigmawole is all vewy well ; but it’s cuwious 
that you don’t wemember, in chawactewising the litewawy the 
mewits of the vawious magazines, cwonicles, weviews, and en- 
cyclopaedias, the existence of a cwitical weview and litewawy 
chwonicle, which, though the aewa of its appeawance is dated 
only at a vewy few months pwevious to the pwesent pewiod, is, 
nevertheless, so wemarkable for its intwinsic mewits as to be 
wead, not in the metwopolis alone, but in the countwy — not in 
Fwance merely, but in the west of Euwope — whewever our 
pure Wenglish is spoken, it swetches its peaceful sceptre — 
pewused in Amewica, fwom New York to Niagawa — wepwinted 
in Canada, from Montweal to Towonto — and, as I am gwatified 
to hear from my fwend the governor of Cape Coast Castle, 
wegularly weceived in Afwica, and twanslated into the Man- 
■ dingo language by the missionawies and the bushwangers. I 
need not say, gentlemen — sir — that is, Mr. Speaker — I mean, 
Sir John — that I allude to the Litewawy Chwonicle, of which 
I have honor to be pwincipal contwibutor.” 

“Very true, my dear Mr. Bullwig,” says my master: “you 
and I being Whigs, must of course stand by our friends ; and I 


MR. YELLOWFLUSH'S AJEIV. 


503 

will agree, without a moment’s hesitation, that the Literary 
what-d’ye-call’em is the prince of periodicals.” 

“ The Pwince of Pewiodicals ? ” says Bullwig ; “ my dear Sir 
John, it’s the empewow of the pwess.” 

“ Soit ^ — let it be the emperor of the press, as you poetically 
call it : but, between ourselves, confess it, — Do not the Tory 
writers beat your Whigs hollow ? You talk about magazines. 
Look at ” 

“ Look at hwat ? ” shouts out Larder. “ There’s none. Sir 
Jan, compared to ourrs.” 

“ Pardon me, I think that ” 

“ It is ‘ Bentley’s Mislany ’ you mane ? ” says Ignatius, as 
sharp as a niddle. 

“Why, no ; but ” 

“ O thin, it’s Co’burn, sure ; and that diwle Thayodor — a 
pretty paper, sir, but light — thrashy, milk-and-watherj^ — not 
sthrong, like the Litherary Chran — ^good luck to it.” 

“ Why, Doctor Lander, I was going to tell at once the name 
of the periodical, — it is Fraser’s Magazine.” 

“ Freser ! ” says the Doctor. “ O thunder and turf ! ” 

“ Fwaser ! ” says Bullwig. “ O — ah — hum — haw — ^yes — 
no — why, — that is weally — no, weally, upon my weputation, I 
never before heard the name of the pewiodical. By the bya. 
Sir John, what remarkable good clawet this is ; is it Lawose or 
Laff -? ” 

Laff, indeed ! he couldn’t git beyond laff ; and I’m blest if 
I could kip it neither, — for hearing him pretend ignurnts, and 
being behind the skreend, settlin sumthink for a genlmn, I bust 
into such a raw of laffing as never was igseeded. 

“ Hullo 1 ” says Bullwig, turning red. “ Have I said any- 
thing impwobable, aw widiculous 1 for, weally, I never befaw 
wecollect to have heard in society such a twemendous peal of 
cachinnation — that which the' twagic bard who fought at Ma- 
wathon has called an anewithmon ge/asma.” 

“ Why, be the holy piper,” says Larder, “ I think you are 
dthrawing a little on your imagination. Not read Eraser! 
Don’t believe him, my lord duke ; he reads every word of it, 
the rogue ! The boys about that magazine baste him as if he 
was a sack of oatmale. My reason for crying out. Sir Jan, was 
because you mintioned Fraser at all. Bullwig has every sylla- 
ble of it be heart — from the paillitix down to the ‘ Yellowplush 
Correspondence.’ ” ^ 

“ Ha, ha ! ” says Bullwig, affecting to laff (you may be sure . 
my years prickt up when I heard the name of the ‘ Yellowplush 


504 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

Correspondence ’). “ Ha, ha ! why, to tell tvvuth, I have wead 

the cowespondence to which you allude : it’s a gweat favowite 
at court. I was talking with Spwing Wice and John Wussell 
about it the other day.” 

“ Well, and what do you think of it ? ” says Sir John, looking 
mity waggish — for he knew it was me who roat it. 

“ Why, weally and twuly, there’s considewable cleverness 
about the cweature ; but it’s low, disgustingly low : it violates 
pwobability, and the orthogwaphy is so carefully inaccuwate, that 
it requires a positive study to compw'ehend it.” 

“Yes, faith,” says Lamer; “the arthagraphy is detestible ; 
it’s as bad for a man to write bad spillin as it is for ’em to 
speak with a brrogue. Iducation furst, and ganius afterwards. 
Your health, my lord, and good luck to you.” 

“Yaw wemark,” says Bullwig, “is vewy appwopwiate. You 
will wecollect. Sir John, in Hewodotus (as for you. Doctor, you 
know more about Iwish than about Gweek), — you will wecollect, 
without doubt, a stowy nawwated by that cwedulous though 
fascinating chwonicler, of a certain kind of sheep which is 
known only in a certain distwict of Awabia, and of which the 
tail is so enormous, that it either dwaggles on tl;|^ gwound, or 
is bound up by the shepherds of the country into a small wheel- 
bawwow, or cart, which makes the chwonicler sneewingly w^e- 
mark that thus ‘ the sheep of Awabia have their own chawiots.’ 
I have often thought, sir (this clawet is weally nectaweous), — 
I have often, I say, thought that the wace of man may be com- 
pawed to these Awabian sheep — genius is our tail, education 
our wheelbawwow. Without art and education to pwop it, this 
genius dwops on the gwound, and is pollutejd by the mud, or 
injured by the wocks upon the way : with the wheelbawwow it 
is stwengthened, incweased, and supported — a pwide to th« 
owner, a blessing to mankind.” 

“Avery appropriate simile,” says Sir John; “and I am 
afraid that the genius of our friend Yellowplush has need of 
some such support.” 

“ Apropos,” said Bullwig, “ who is Yellowplush ? I was given 
to understand that the name was only a fictitious one, and that 
the papers were written by the author of the ‘ Diary of a Physi- 
cian ; ’ if so, the man has wonderfully improved in style, and 
there is some hope of him.” 

“ Bah ! ” says the Duke of Doublejowl ; “ everybody knows 
it’s Barjiard, the celebrated author of ‘ Sam Slick.’ ” 

“Pardon, my dear duke,” says Lord Bagwig; “it’s the 
authoress of ‘ High Life,’ ‘ Almack’s,’ and other fashionable 
novels.” 


MR. YELLOWPLUSH^S AJEW. 


505 

Fiddlestick’s end ! ” says Doctor Lamer ; “ don’t be blush- 
ing and pretinding to ask questions : don’t we know you, Bull- 
wig ? It’s you yourself, you thief of the world : we smoked you 
from the very beginning.” 

Bullwigwas about indignantly to reply, when Sir John inter- 
rupted them, and said, — “ I must correct you all, gentle- 
men ; Mr. Yellowplush is no other than Mr. Yellowplush : he 
gave you, my dear Bullwig, your last glass of champagne at 
dinner, and is now an inmate of my house, and an ornament of 
my kitchen ! ” 

“ Gad ! ” says Doublejowl, “ let’s have him up.” 

“ Hear, hear ! ” says Bagwig. 

“Ah, now,” says Lamer, “your grace is not going to callup 
and talk to a footman, sure ? Is it gintale ? ” 

“To say the least of it,” says Bullwig, “ the pwactice is 
iwwegular and indecowous ; and I weally don’t see how the 
interview can be in any way pwofitable.” 

But the vices of the company went against the two littery 
men, and everybody excep them was for having up poor me. 
The bell was wmng ; butler came. “ Send up Charles,” says 
master ; and Charles, who was standing behind the skreand, 
was persnly abliged to come in. 

“ Charles,” says master, “ I have been telling these gentle- 
men who_ is the author of the ‘ Yellowplush Correspondence’ in 
FrasePs Magazine.''' 

“ It’s the best magazine in Europe,” says the duke. 

“ And no mistake,” says my lord. 

“ Hwhat ! ” says Lamer ; “ and where’s the Litherary 
Chran ? ” 

I said myself nothink, but made a bough, and blusht like 
pickle-cabbitch. 

“ Mr. Yellowplush,” says his grace, “ will you, in the first 
place, drink a glass of wine ? ” 

I* boughbd'^l^in. 

“ And' what wine do you prefer, sir humble port or imperial 
burgundy t ” 

“ Why, your grace,” says I, “ I know my place, and ain’t 
above kitchin wines. I will take a glass of port, and drink it to 
the health of this honrabble compny.” 

When I’d swigged off the bumper, which his grace himself 
did me the honor to pour out for me, there was a silints for a 
minnit ; when my master said : — 

“Charles Yellowplush, I have perused your memoirs in 
Fraser's Magazine with so much curiosity, and have so high an 


5o6 the memoirs of MR. C. j yellowplush. 

opinion of your talents as a writer, that I really cannot keep you 
as a footman any longer, or allow you to discharge duties for 
which you are now quite unfit. With all my admiration for your 
talents, Mr. Yellowplush, I still am confident that many of your 
friends in the servants’-hall will clean my boots a great deal 
better than a gentleman of your genius can ever be expected to 
do — it is for this purpose I employ footmen, and not that they 
may be writing articles in magazines. But — you need not look 
so red, my good fellow, and had better take another glass of 
port — I don’t wish to throw you upon the wide world without 
the means of a livelihood, and have made interest for a little 
place which you will have under Government, and which will 
give you an income of eighty pounds per annum ; which you can 
double, I presume, by your literary labors.” 

“ Sir,” says I, clasping my hands, and bursting into tears, 
do not — ^for heaven’s sake, do not ! — think of any such think, 
or drive me from your suvvice, because I have been fool enough 
to write in magaseens. Gians but one moment at your honor’s 
plate — every spoon is as bright as a mirror ; condysend to igs- 
amine your shoes — your honor may see reflected in them the 
fases of every one in the company. I blacked them shoes, I 
cleaned that there plate. If occasionally I’ve forgot the foot- 
man in the litterary man, and committed to paper my remindi- 
cences of fashnabble life, it was from a sincere desire to do 
good, and promote nollitch : and I appeal to your honor, — I 
lay my hand on my busm, and in the fase of this noble company 
beg you to say. When you rung your bell, who came to you 
fust I When you stopt out at Brooke’s till morning, who sat up 
for you ? When you was ill, who forgot the natral dignities of 
his station, and answered the two-pair bell ? Oh, sir,” says I, 
“ I know what’s what ; don’t send me away. I know them 
littery chaps, and, beleave me, I’d rather be a footman. The 
work’s not so hard — the pay is better ; the vittels incpmpyrably 
supearor. I have but to clean my things, and; ruq niy errints, 
and you put clothes on my back, and meat in my mouth. ' Sir ! 
Mr. Bullwig! an’t I right.? shall I quit my station and sink — 
that is to say, rise — to yours ? ” 

Bullwig was violently affected ; a tear stood in his glisten- 
ing i. “ Yellowplush,” says he, seizing my hand, “ you are right. 
Quit not your present occupation ; black boots, clean knives, 
wear plush, all your life, but don’t turn literary man. Look at 
me. I am the first novelist. I have ranged with eagle wing 
over the wide regions of literature, and perched on every 
eminence in its turn. I have gazed with eagle eyes on the sun 


MR. VELLOWPLUSirS AJEW, 


507 

of philosophy, and fathomed the mysterious depths of the 
human mind. All languages are familiar to me, all thoughts 
are known to me, all men understood by me. I have gathered 
wisdom from the honeyed lips of Plato, as we wandered in the 
gardens of Acadames — wisdom, too, from the mouth of Job 
Johnson, as we smoked our ’backy in Seven Dials. Such must 
be the studies, and such is the mission, in this world, of the 
Poet-Philosopher. But the knowledge is only emptiness ; the 
imitation is but misery ; the initiated, a man shunned and 
bann’d by his fellows. Oh,” said Bullwig, clasping his hands, 
and throwing his fine i’s up to the chandelier, “ the curse of 
Pwometheus descends upon his wace. Wath and punishment 
pursue them from genewation to genewation ! Wo to genius, the 
heaven-scaler, the fire-stealer ! Wo and thrice bitter desola- 
tion ! Earth is the wock on which Zeus, wemorseless, stwetches 
his withing victim — men, the vultures that feed and fatten on 
him. Ai, Ai ! it is agony eternal — ^gwoaning and solitawy 
despair ! And you, Yellowplush, would penetwate these myste- 
wies : you would waise the awful veil, and stand in the twemen- 
dous Pwesence. Beware ; as you value your peace, beware ; 
Withdwaw, wash Neophyte ! For heaven’s sake — O for heaven’s 
sake ! — ” here he looked round with agony — “ give me a glass 
of bwandy-and-water, for this clawet is beginning to disagwee 
with me.” 

Bullwig having concluded this spitch, very much to his own 
sattasfackshn, looked round to the compny for aplaws, and 
then swigged off the glass of brandy-and-water, giving a solium 
sigh as he took the last gulph ; and then Doctor Ignatius, who 
longed for a chans, and, in order to show his independence, 
began flatly contradicting his friend, addressed me, and the 
rest of the genlmn present, in the following manner : 

“ Hark ye,” says he, “ my gossoon, doan’t be led asthray 
by the nonsinse of that divil of a Bullwig. He’s jillous of ye, 
my bhoy : that’s the rale, undoubted thruth ; and it’s only to 
keep you out of litherary life that he’s palavering you in this 
way. I’ll tell you what — Plush ye blackguard, — ^my honorable 
friend the mimber there has told me a hunder times by the 
smallest computation, of his intense admiration of your talents, 
and the wonderful sthir they were making in the world. He 
can’t bear a rival. He’s mad with envy, hatred, oncharatable- 
ness. Look at him. Plush, and look at me. My father was 
not a juke exactly, nor aven a markis, and see, nevertheliss, to 
what a pitch I am come. I spare no ixpinse ; I’m the iditor 
of a cople of pariodicals ; I dthrive about in me carridge j I 


5 o 8 the memoirs of MR. C. J YELLOWPLUSH. 

dine wid the lords of the land ; and why — in the name of the 
piper that pleed before Mosus, hwy? Because I’m a litherary 
man. Because I know how to play me cards. Because I’m 
Docther Lamer, in fact, and mimber of every society in and 
out of Europe. I might have remained all my life in Thrinity 
Colledge, and never made such an incom as that offered you 
by Sir Jan ; but I came to London — to London, my boy, and 
now see ! Look again at me friend Bullwig. He is a gentle- 
man, to be sure, and bad luck to ’im, say I ; and what has been 
the result of his litherary labor ? I'll tell you what ; and I’ll 
tell this gintale society, by the shade of Saint Patrick, they’re 
going to make him a barinet.” 

“A Barnet, Doctor!” says I; “you don’t mean to say 
they’re going to make him a barnet ! ” 

“As sure as I’ve made meself a docthor,” says Lamer. 

“ What, a baronet, like Sir John ? ” 

“The divle a bit else.” 

“ And pray what for ? ” 

“ What faw ? ” says Bullwig. “ Ask the histowy of litwatuwe 
what faw ? Ask Colburn, ask Bentley, ask Saunders and Otley, 
ask the gweat Bwitish nation, what faw } The blood in my 
veins comes puwified thwough ten thousand years of chival* 
wous ancestwy ; but that is neither here nor there : my political 
principles — the equal wights \yhich I have advocated — the 
gweat cause of fweedom that Piy^'^TO^ibwated, are known to 
all. But this, I confess, has nothih'^Tb do with the question. 
No, the question is this — on the thwone of liteweture I stand 
unwivalled, pwe-eminent ; and the Bwitish government, hon- 
owing genius in me, compliments the Bwitish nation by lifting 
into the bosom of the heweditawy nobility the most gifted 
member of the democwacy.” (The honrabble genlm here sunk 
down amidst repeated cheers.) 

“Sir John,” says I, “and my lord duke, the words of my 
rivrint frend Ignatius, and the remarks of the honrabble genlmn 
who has just sate down, have made me change the detummin- 
ation which I had the honor of igspressing just now. 

“ I igsept the eighty pound a year ; knowing that I shall 
have plenty of time for pursuing my littery career, and hoping 
some day to set on that same bentch of barranites, which is 
deckarated by the presnts of my honrabble friend. 

“ Why shooden I ? It’s trew I ain’t done anythink as yet to 
deserve such an honor ; and it’s very probable that I never 
shall. But what then ? — quaw dong., as our friends say ? I’d 
much, rayther have a coat-of-arms than a coat of livry. I’d 


YELLOlVPLUSfr:> A JEW. 


509 


much rayther have my blud-red hand spralink in the middle of 
a shield, than underneath a tea-tray. A barranit I will be \ 
and, in consiqiiints, must cease to be a footmin. 

‘’As to my politticle princepills, these, I confess, ain’t 
settled : they are, I know, necessary: but they ain’t necessary 
U7itil askt for; besides, I reglar read the Satiarist newspaper, 
and so ignirince on this pint would be inigscusable. 

“ But if one man can git to be a doctor, and another a 
barranit, and another a capting in the navy, and another a 
countess, and another the wife of a governor of the Cape 0/ 
Good Hope, I begin to perseave that the littery trade ain’t 
such a very bad un ; igspecially if you’re up to snough, and 
know what’s o’clock. I’ll learn to make myself usefle, in the 
fust place; then I’ll larn to spell; and, I trust, by reading the 
novvles of the honrabble member, and the scientafick treatiseses 
of the reverend doctor, I may find the secrit of suxess, and git 
a litell for my own share. I’ve sevral frends in the press, 
having paid for many of those chaps’ drink, and given them 
other treets ; and so I think I’ve got all the emilents of suxess ; 
therefore, I am detummined, as I said, to igsept your kind 
offer, and beg to withdraw the wuds which I made yous of 
when I refyoused your hoxpatable offer. I must, however — ” 

“I wish you’d withdraw yourself,*” said Sir John, bursting 
into a most igstrorinary rage, “ and not interrupt the company 
with your infernal talk ! Go down, and get us coffee : and, 
heark ye ! hold your impertinent tongue, or I’ll break every 
bone in your body. You shall have the place, as I said ; and 
while you’re in my service, you shall be my servant ; but you 
don’t stay in my service after to-morrow. Go down stairs, sir ; 
and don’t stand staring here ! ” 

******* 

In this abrupt way, my evening ended : it’s with a melan- 
choly regret that I think what came of it. I don’t wear plush 
any more. I am an altered, a wiser, and, I trust, a better man. 

I’m about a novvie (having made great progriss in spelling), 
in the style of my friend Bullwig ; and preparing for publiga- 
tion, in the Doctor’s Cyclopedear, “The Lives of Eminent 
Brittish and Foring Wosherwomen.” 

33 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 


510 


SKIMMINGS FROM “THE DIARY OF 
GEORGE IV;’ 

CHARLES YELLOWPLUSH, ESQ., TO OLIVER YORKE, ESQ.* 

Dear Why, — Takin advantage of the Crismiss holydays, 
Sir John and me (who is a member of parlyment) had gone 
down to our place in Yorkshire for six weeks, to shoot grows 
and woodcox, and enjoy old English hospitalaty. This ugly 
Canady bisniss unluckaly put an end to our sports in the coun- 
try, and brot us up to Buckly Square as fast as' four posterses 
could gallip. When there, I found your parcel, containing the 
two vollumes of a new book ; witch, as I have been away from 
the literary world, and emplied solely in athlatic exorcises, have 
been laying neglected in my pantry, among my knife-cloaths, 
and dekanters, and blacking-bottles, and bedroom candles, and 
things. 

This will. I’m sure, account for my delay in notussing the 
work. I see sefral of the papers and magazeens have been 
befoarhand with me, and have given their apinions concerning 
it ; specially the Quotly Revew, which has most mussilessly cut 
to peases the author of this Dairy of the Times of George IKf 

That it’s a woman that wrote it is evydent from the style of 
the writing, as well as from certain proofs in the book itself. 
Most suttnly a femail wrote this Dairy ; but who this Dairy- 
maid may be, I, in coarse, can’t conjecter : and, indeed, com- 
mon galliantry forbids me to ask. I can only judge of the 
book itself ; which, it appears to me, is clearly trenching upon 
my ground and favrite subjicks, viz., fashnabble life, as igsibited 
in the houses of the nobility, gentry, and rile fammly. 

But I bare no mallis — infamation is infamation, and it 
doesn’t matter where the infamy comes from ; and whether the 
Dairy be from that distinguished pen to witch it is ornarily 
attributed — whether, I say, it comes from a lady of honor to 

* These Memoirs were originally published in Fraser's Mag’azine, and it may be stated 
for the benefit of the unlearned in such matters, that “ Oliver Yorke ” is the assumed name 
of the editor of that periodical. 

t Diary illustrative of the Times of George the Fourth, interspersed with Original 
Letters from the late Queen Caroline, and from various other distinguished Persons^ 

“ Tot ou tard, tout se sgait.” — Main tenon. 

In a vols. London, 1838. Henry Colburn. 


SKIMMINGS FROM THE DIARY OF GEORGE IV,'** 

the late quean, or a scullion to that diffunct majisty, no matter: 
all we ask is nollidge ; never mind how we have it. Nollidge, 
as our cook says, is like trikel-possit — it’s always good, though 
you was to drink it out of an old shoo. 

Well, then, although this Dairy is likely searusly to injur 
my pussonal intrests, by fourstalling a deal of what I had to 
say in my private memoars — though many, many guineas, is 
taken from my pockit, by cuttin short the tail of my narratif — 
though much that I had to say in souperior languidge, greased 
with all the ellygance of my orytory, the benefick of my classcle 
reading, the chawms of my agreble wit, is thus abruply brot 
befor the world by an inferior genus, neither knowing nor 
writing English ; yet I say, that nevertheless I must say, 
what I am puffickly prepaired to say, to gainsay which no 
man can say a word — yet I say, that I say I consider this 
publication welkom. Far from viewing it with enfy, I greet 
it with applaws ; because it increases that most exlent spe- 
cious of nollidge, I mean “ Fashnabble Nollidge : ” com? 
payred to witch all other nollidge is nonsince — a bag of goold 
to a pare of snuffers. 

Could Lord Broom, on the Canady question, say moar.? or 
say what he had tu say better? We are marters, both of us, to 
prinsple ; and every body who knows eather knows that we 
would sacrafice any think rather than that. Fashion is the 
goddiss I adoar. This delightful work is an off ring on her 
srine ; and as sich all her wushippers are bound to hail it. 
Here is not a question of trumpry lords and honrabbles, 
generals and barronites, but the crown itself, and the king 
and queen’s actions ; witch may be considered as the crown 
jewels. Here’s princes, and grand-dukes and airsparent, and 
heaven knows what ; all with blood-royal in their veins, and 
their names mentioned in the very fust page of the peeridge. 
In this book you become so intmate with the Prince of Wales, 
that you may follow him, if you please, to his marridge-bed ; 
or, if you prefer the Princiss Charlotte, you may have with her 
an hour’s tator-tator.* 

Now, though most of the remarkable extrax from this 
book have been given already (the cream of the Dairy^ as I 
wittily say), I shall trouble you, nevertheless, with a few ; partly 
because they can’t be repeated too often, and because the toan 
of obsyvation with which they have been genrally received by 
the press is not igsackly such as I think they merit. How, im 


* Our estimable correspondent means, we presume, teie-h-tite.—O, Y. 


512 


THE MEMOIRS OE MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 


deed, can these common magaseen and newspaper pipple know 
anything of fashnabble life, let alone ryal ? 

Conseaving, then, that the publication of the Dairy has 
done reel good on this scoar, and may probly do a deal moor, 
I shall look through it, for the porpus of selecting the most 
ellygant passidges, and which I think may be peculiarly adapted 
to the reader’s benefick. 

For you see, my dear Mr. Yorke, that in the fust place, that 
this is no common catchpny book, like that of most authors and 
authoresses who WTite for the base looker of gain. Heaven 
bless you ! the Dairy-maid is above anything musnary. ^he is 
a w'oman of rank, and no mistake ; and is as much above doin 
a common or vulgar action as I am superaor to taking beer after 
dinner with my cheese. She proves that most satisfackarily, as 
we see in the following passidge : — 

“ Her royal highness came to me, and having spoken a few phrases on different sud- 
Jects, produced all the papers she wishes to have published : her whole correspondence with 

the prince relative to Lady J ’s dismissal ; his subsequent neglect of the princess J and, 

'finally, the acquittal of her supposed guilt, signed by the Duke of Portland, &c., at the time 
of the secret inquiry : when, if proof could have been brought against her, it certainly would 
have been done ; and which acquittal, to the disgrace of all parties concerned, as well as to 
the justice of the nation in general, was not made public at the time. A common criminal is 
publicly condemned or acquitted. Her royal highness commanded me to have these letters 
published forthwith, saying, ‘You may sell them for a great sum.’ At first (for she had 
spoken to me before concerning this business), I thought of availing myself of the oppor- 
tunity ; but upon second thoughts, I turned from this idea with detestation : for, if I do 
wrong by obeying her wishes and endeavoring to serve her, I will do so at least from good 
and disinterested motives, not from any sordid views. The princess commands me, and I 
will obey her, whatever may be the issue ; but not for fare or fee. I own I tremble, not so 
much for myself, as for the idea that she is not taking the best and most dignified wayof 
having these papers published. Why make a secret of it at all ? If wrong, it should not be 
done ; if right it should be done openly, and in the face of her enemies. In her royal high- 
ness’s case, as in that of wronged princes in general, why do they shrink from straight- 
forward dealings, and rather have recourse to crooked policy? I wish, in this particular in- 
stance, I could make her royal highness feel thus : but she is naturally indignant at being 
falsely accused, and will not condescend to an avowed explanation.” 

Can anythink be more just and honrabble than this ? The 
Dairy-lady is quite fair and abovebored. A clear stage, says 
she, and no favior ! “ I won’t do behind my back what I am 

ashamed of before my face : not I ! ” No more she does ; for 
you see that, though she was offered this manyscrip by the prin- 
cess for nothmk^ though she knew that she could actially get for 
it a large sum of money, she was above it, like an honest, noble, 
grateful, fashnabble woman, as sl:e was. She aboars secrecy, 
and never will have recors to disguise prcrookid polacy. This 
ought to be an ansure to them Radicle sneer ers., who pretend 
that they are the equals of fashnabble pepple ; whereas it’s a 
well-known fact, that the vulgar roagues have no notion of 
honor. 

And after this positif declaration, which reflex honor on her 


SKIMMINGS FROM THE DIAR\ OF GEORGE IVR 


5^3 


ladyship (long life to her ! I’ve often waited behind her chair !) 

■ — after this posilif declaration, that, even for the porpus of 
defe7iding her missis, she was so hi-minded as to refuse anythink 
like a peculiarly consideration, it is actially asserted in the pub- 
lic prints by a booxeller, that he has given her^Tt thousand pound 
for the Dairy. A thousand pound ! nonsince ! — it’s a phig- 
ment ! a base lible ! This woman take a thousand pound, in a 
matter where her dear mistriss, friend, and benyfactriss was 
concerned ! Never ! A thousand baggonits would be more 
prefrabble to a woman of her xqizzit feelins and fashion. 

But to proseed. It’s been objected to me, when I wrote 
some of my expearunces in fashnabble life, that my languidge 
was occasionally vulgar, and not such as is generally used in 
those exquizzit famlies which I frequent. Now, I’ll lay a wager 
that there is in this book, wrote as all tlie world knows, by a 
rele lady, and speakin of kings and queens as if they were as 
common as sand-boys — there is in this book more wulgarity 
than ever I displayed, more nastiness than ever I would dare 
io think 071 , and more bad grammar than ever I wrote since I 
was a boy at school. As for authografy, evry genlmn has his 
own : never mind spellin, I say, so long as the sence is right. 

Let me here quot a letter from a corryspondent of this 
charming lady of honor ; and a very nice corryspondent he is, 
too, without any mistake : 

“ Lady O , poor Lady O ! knows the rules of prudence, I fear me, as im« 

perfectly as she doth those of tlie Greek and Latin Grammars : or she hath let her brother, 
who is a sad swine, become master of her secrets, and then contrived to quarrel with him. 
You would see the outline of the luHange in the newspapers ; but not the reoort that Mr. 

S is about to publish a pamphlet, as an addition to the Harleian Tracts, setting forth 

the amatory adventures of his sister. We shall break our necks in haste to buy it, of course 
crying ‘ Shameful ’ all the while ; and it is said that Lady O is to be cut, which I can- 

not entirely believe. Let her tell two or three old women about town that they are young 
and handsome, and give some well-timed parties, and she may still keep the society which 
she hath been used to. The times are not so hard as they once were, when a woman could 
not construe Magna Charta with anything like impunity. People were full as gallant many 
years ago. But the days are gone by wherein my lord-protector of the commonwealth of 
England w’as wont to go a love-making to Mrs. Fleetwood, with the Bible under his arm. 

“ And so Miss Jacky Gordon is really clothed with a husband at last, and Miss Laura 
Manners left without a mate! She and Lord Stair should marry and have children, in mere 
revenge. As to Miss Oorden, she’s a Venus w'ell suited for such a Vulcan, — whom nothing 
but money and a title could have rendered tolerable, even to a kitchen wench. It is said that 
the matrimonial correspondence between this couple is to be published, full of sad scandalous 
relations, of which you may be sure scarcely a word is true. In former times, the Duchess 

of St. A s made use of these elegant epistles in ord?r to intimidate Lady Johnstone .• 

but that ruse would not avail ; so in spite, tliey are to be printed. What a cargo of 
amiable creatures! Yet will some people scarcely believe in the existence of Pande- 
monium. , . 

“ Tuesday Morning. — You are perfectly right respecting the hot rooms here, which we 
all cry out against, and all find very comfortable — much more so than the cold sands and 
bleak neighborhood of the sea ; which looks vastly well in one of Vander Velde’s pictures 

hung upon crimson damask, but hideous and shocking in reality. H and his 

(talking of parties) were last night at Cholmondeley House, but seem not to ripen in their 
love. ^He IS certainly good-humored, and I believe, good-hearted, so deserves a good wife ; 
but his cara seems a genuine London miss, made up of many affectations. Will she forms 


514 the memoirs of MR, C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

comfortable helpmate ? For me, I like not her origin, and deem many strange things to 
run in blood, besides madness and the Hanoverian evil. 

“ Thursday. — I verily do believe that I shall never get to the end of this small sheet 
of paper, so many unheard of interruptions have I had ; and now I have been to Vauxhall, 

and caught the toothache. I was of Lady E. B m and H ’s party: very dull— 

the Lady giving us all a supper after our promenade— 

' Much ado was there, God wot 
She would love, but he would not* 

He ate a great deal of ice, although he did not seem to require it ; and she ^faisoii les yeux 
doux ’ enough not only to have melted all the ice which he swallowed, but his own hard 
heart into the bargain.* The thing will not do. In the meantime. Miss Long hath become 
quite cruel to Wellesley Pole, and divides her favor equally between Lords Killeen and Kil- 
worth, two as simple Irishmen as ever gave birth to a bull. I wish to Hymen that 
she were fairly married, for all this pother gives' one a disgusting picture of human 
nature.” 

A disgusting pictur of human nature, indeed — and isn’t he 
who moralizes about it, and she to whom he writes, a couple of 
pretty heads in the same piece ? Which, Mr. Yorke, is the wust, 
the scandle or the scandle-mongers ? See what it is to be a 
moral man of fashn. Fust, he scrapes togither all the bad 
stoaries about all the people of his acquentance — he goes to a 
ball, and laffs or snears at everybody there — he is asked to a 
dinner, and brings away, along with meat and wine to his 
heart’s content, a sour stomick filled with nasty stories of all 
the people present there. He has such a squeamish appytite, 
that all the world seem to disagree with him. And what has he 
got to say to his dedicate female frend ? Why that — 

Fust. Mr. S. is going to publish indescent stoaries about 
Lady O , his sister, which everybody’s going to by. 

Nex. That Miss Gordon is going to be cloathed with an 
usband ; and that all their matrimonial corryspondins is to be 
published too. 

3. That Lord H. is going to be married ; but there’s some- 
thing rong in his wife’s blood. 

4. Miss Long has cut Mr. Wellesley, and is gone after two 
Irish lords. 

Wooden you pliancy, now, that the author of such a letter, 
instead of writin about pipple of tip-top qualaty, was describin 
Vinegar Yard ? Would you beleave that the lady he was a-ritin 
to was a chased, modis.t lady of honor, and mother of a family t 
O trumpery ! O morris ! as Homer says : this is a higeous 
pictur of manners, such as I weap to think of, as evrymorl man 
must weap. 

The above is one pritty pictur of mearly fashnabble life : 
what follows is about families even higher situated than the 
most fashnabble. Here we have the princess-regient, her 
daughter the Princess Sharlot, her grandmamma the old quean, 


SKIM MINGS FROM THE ^ DIARY OP GEORGE IVE 


515 

and her madjisty’s daughters the two princesses. If this is not 
high life, I don’t know where it is to be found ; and it’s pleasing 
to see what affeckshn and harmny rains in such an exolted 
spear. 

"Sunday ^\th. — Yesterday, the princess went to meet the Princess Charlotte at Ken- 
sington. Lady told me that, when the latter arrived, she rushed up to her mother, and 

said, ‘ For God’s sake, be civil to her,’ meaning the Duchess of Leeds, who followed her. 

Lady said she felt sorry for the latter ; but when the Princess of Wales talked to lier, 

she soon became so free and easy, that one could not have any feeling about her feelings. 
Princess Charlotte, I was told, was looking handsome, very pale, but her head more 
becomingly dressed, — that is to say, less dressed than usual. Her figure is of that full 
round shape which is now in its prime ; but she disfigures herself by wearing her boddice 
so short, that she literally has no waist. Her feet are very pretty ; and so are her hands 
and arms, and her ears, and the shape of her head. Her countenance is expressive, when 
she allows her passions to play upon it ; and I never saw any face, with so little shade, 
express so many powerful and varied emotions. Lady — — told me that the Princess 
Charlotte talked to her about her situation, and said, in a very quiet, but determined way, 
she would not bear it, and that as soon as parliament met, she intended to come to Warw’ick 
House, and remain there ; that she was also determined not to consider the Duchess of 
Leeds as her governess but only as her first lady. She made many observations on other 
persons and subjects ; and appears to be very quick, very penetrating, but imperious and 
wilful. There is a tone of romance, too, in her character, which will only serve to mislead 
her. 

“ She told her mother that there had been a great battle at Windsor between the queen 
and the prince, the former refusing to give up Miss Knight from her own person to attend 
on Princess Charlotte as sub-govemess. But the prince-regent had gone to Windsor him- 
self, and insisted on her doing so ; and the ‘ old Beguin ’ was forced to submit, but has 
been ill ever since : and Sir Henry Halford declared it was a complete breaking up of her 
constitution — to the great delight of the two princesses, who were talking about this affair. 
Miss Knight was the very person they wished -to have ; they think they can do as they like 
with her. It has been ordered that the Princess Charlotte should not see her mother alone 
for a single moment ; but the latter went into her room, stuffed a pair of large shoes full 

of papers, and having given them to her daughter, she went home. Lady told me 

everything \yas written down and sent to Mr. Brougham next day." 

See what discord will creap even into the best regulated 
famlies. Here are si.x of ’em — viz., the quean and her two 
daughters, her son, and his wife and daughter ; and the manner 
in which they hate one another is a compleat puzzle. 

( his mother. 

The Prince hates -< his wife. 

( his daughter. 

Princess Charlotte hates her father. 

Princess of Wales hates her husband. 

The old quean, by their squobbles, is on the pint of death ; 
and her two jewtiful daughters are delighted at the news. What a 
happy, fashnabble, Christian famly ! O Mr. Yorke, Mr. Yorke, 
if this is the way in the drawin-rooms, I’m quite content to live 
below, in pease and charaty with all men ; writin, as I am now, 
in my pantry, or els havin a quite game at cards in the servants* 
all. With us there’s no bitter, wicked, quarling of this sort. 
IPir don’t hate our children, or bully our mothers, or wish ’em 
ded when they’re sick, as this Dairyworaan says kings and 


5 i 6 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 

queens do. When we’re writing to our friends or sweethearts, 
7ve don’t fill our letters with nasty stoaries, takin away the 
carricter of our fellow-servants, as this maid of honor’s amusin’ 
moral frend does. But, in coarse, it’s not for us to judge of 
our betters ; — these great people are a supeerur race, and we 
can’t comprehend their w^ays. 

Do you recklect — it’s twenty years ago now — how a bewtiffle 
princess died in givin buth to a poar baby, and how the whole 
nation of Hengland wep, as though it was one man, over that 
sweet woman and child, in which were sentered the hopes of 
every one of us, and of which each was as proud as of his own 
wife or infnt ? Do you recklect how pore fellows spent their 
last shillin to buy a black crape for their hats, and clergymen 
cried in the pulpit, and the whole country through was no better 
than a great dismal funeral ? Do you recklect, Mr. Yorke, who 
was the person that we all took on so about ? We called her 
the Princis Sharlot of Wales ; and we valyoud a single drop of 
her blood more than the whole heartless body of her father. 
Well, we looked up to her as a kind of saint or angle, and blest 
God (such foolish loyal English pipple as we ware in those days) 
who had sent this sweet lady to rule over us. But heaven 
bless you ! it was only souperstition. She was no better than 
she should be, as it turns out — or at least the Dairy-maid says 
so. No better? — if my daughters or yours was ^ so bad, we’d 
as leaf be dead ourselves, and they hanged. But listen to this 
pritty charritable story, and a truce to reflexshuns : — 

^''Sunday, January g, 1814. — Yesterday, according to appointment, I went to Princess 
Charlotte. Found at Warwick House the harp-plaver, Dizzi ; was asked to remain and 
listen to his performance, but was talked to during the whole time, which completely pre- 
vented all possibility of listening to the music. The Duchess of Leeds and her daughter 
were in the room, but left it soon. Next arrived Miss Knight, who remained all the time I 

was there. Princess Charlotte was very gracious — showed me all her bofifiy dyes, as B 

would have called them — pictures, and cases,- and jewels, &c. She talked in a very desul- 
tory way, and it would be difficult to say of what. She observed her mother was in very 
low spirits. I asked her how she supposed she could be- otherwise ? This questioning 
answer saves a great deal of trouble, and serves two purposes — i. e. avoids committing one- 
self, or giving offence by silence. There was hung in the apartment one portrait, amongst 

others, that veiy much resembled the Duke of D . I asked Miss Knight whom it 

represented. She said that w'as not known ; it had been supposed a likeness cf the Pre- 
tender, when young. This answer suited my thoughts so comically I could have laughed, 
if one ever did at courts anything but tlie contrary of what one was inclined to do. 

“ Princess Charlotte has a very great variety of expression in her countenance — a play 
of features, and a force of muscle, rarely seen in connection with such soft and shadeless 
coloring. Her hands and arms are beautiful ; but I think her figure is already gone, and will 
soon be precisely like her mother’s : in short it is the very picture of her, and not in minia- 
ture. I could not help analyzing my own sensations during the time I was wifh her, and 
thought more of them than I did of her. Why was I at all flattered, at all more amused, at 
all more supple to this young princess, than to her who is' only the same sort of person set 
in the shade of circumstances and of years? It is that youth, and the approach of power, 
and the latent views of self-interest, sway the heart and dazzle the understanding. If this 
is so with a heart not, I trust, corrupt, and a head not particularly formed for interested 
salculations, what effect must not the same causes produce on the generality of mankind? 

“ In the course of the conversation, the Princess Cliarfotte contrived to edge in a good 


SKIMMTNGS FROM THE DIARY OF GEORGE I VI 51 y 

deal of invt-Je-dy, and would, if I had entered into the thing, have gone on with it, while 
looking at a little picture of herself which had about thirty or forty different dresses to put 
over it, done on isuiglass, and which allowed the general coloring of the picture to be seen 
through its transparency'. It was, I thought, a pretty enough conceit, though rather like 
dressing up a doll. ‘ Ah ! ’ said Miss Knight, ‘ I am not content though, madame — for I yet 
should have liked one more dress — that of the favorite Sultana.’ 

“ ‘ No, no ! ’ said the princess, ‘ I never was a favorite, and never can be one,’ — looking 
at a picture which she said was her father’s, but which I do not believe was done for the 
regent any more than for me, but represented a young man in a huzzar’s dress — probably 
a former favorite. 

“The Princess Charlotte seemed much hurt at the little notice that was taken of her birth- 
day. After keeping me for two hours and a half she dismissed me ; and I am sure I could 
not say what she said, except that it was an olio of dicousus and heterogenous things, par- 
taking of the characteristics of her mother, grafted on a younger scion. I dined tite-a-tUe 
with my dear old aunt : hers is always a sweet and sootliing society to me.” 

There’s a pleasing, lady-like, moral extract for you ! An 
innocent young thing of fifteen has pictures of two lovers in her 
room, and expex a good number more. This delligate young 
creature edges in a good deal of tmndedy (I can’t find it in John- 
son’s Dixonar}’), and would have gone on with the thing (elly- 
gence of languidge), if the dairy-lady would have let her. 

Now, to tell you the truth, Mr. Yorke, I doan’t beleave a 
single syllible of this story. This lady of honner says, in the 
fust place, that the princess would have talked a good deal of 
tumdedy : which means, I suppose, indeasnsy, if she, the lady 
of honner would have let her. This is a good one ! Why, she 
lets everybody else talk tumdedy to their hearts’ content ; she 
lets her friends write tumdedy, and, after keeping it for a quar- 
ter of a-sentry, she pidnts it. Why then, be so squeamish about 
• hearing little ! And, then, there’s the stoary of the two por- 
tricks. This woman has the honner to be received in the 
frendlyest manner by a British princess ; and what does the 
grateful loyal creature do t 2 picturs of the princess’s relations 
are hanging in her room, and the Dairy-woman swears away the 
poor young princess’s carrickter, by swearing they are picturs 
of her lovers. For shame, oh, for shame ! you slanderin back- 
bitin dairy-woman you ! If you told all them things to your 
“dear old aunt,” on going to dine with her, you must have had 
very “ sweet and soothing society ” indeed. 

I had marked out many more extrax, which I intended to 
write about ; but I think I have said enough about this Dairy ; 
in fack, the butler, and the gals in the servants^ hall are not 
well pleased that I should go on reading this naughty book ; 
so we’ll have no more of it, only one passidge about Pollytics, 
witch is sertnly quite new : — 

“ No one was so likely to be able to defeat Bonaparte as the Crown Prince, from the 
intimate knowledge he possessed of his character. Bernadotte was also instigated against 
Bonaparte by one who not only owed him a personal hatred, but who possessed a mind 
equal to his, and who gave tlie Crown Prince both information and advice how to act. This 
was no less a person than Madam de Stael. It was not, as some have asserted, that shi 


5 i 8 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

was in love with Bernadotie ; for at the time of their intimacy, Madame de Sidel was in 
love withKocca. But she used her influence (which was not small)' with the Crown Prince, 
to make him fight against Bonaparte, and to her wisdom may be attributed much of the 
success which accompanied his attack upon him. Bernadette has raised the flame of lib- 
erty, which seems fortunately to blaze all around. May it liberate Europe ; and from the 
ashes of the laurel may olive branches spring up, and overshadow the earth! ” 

“ There’s a discuvery ! that the overthrow of Boneypart is 
owing to Madame de St del! What nonsince for Colonel 
Southey or Doctor Napier to write histories of the war with 
that Capsican hupstart and murderer, when here we have the 
w'hole affair explained by the lady of honor ! 

“ Sunday, April lo, 1814. — The incidents which take place every hour are miraculous. 
Bonaparte is deposed, but alive ; subdued, but allowed to choose his place of residence. 
The island of Elba is the spot he has selected for his ignominious retreat. France is hold- 
ing forth repentant arms to her banished sovereign. The Poissardes who dragged Louis 
XVI. to the scaffold are presenting flowers to the Emperor of Russia, the restorer of their 
legitimate king! What a stupendous field for philosophy to expatiate in! What an end- 
less material for thought ! 'What humiliation to the pride of mere human greatness ! How 
are the mighty fallen ! Of all that was great in Napoleon, what remains? JDespoiled of 
his usurped power, he sinks into insignificance. There was no moral greatness in the man. 
The meteor dazzled, scorched, is put out, — utterly, and for ever. But the power which 
rests in those who have delivered the nations from bondage is a power that is delegated to 
them from heaven; and the manner in which they have used it is a guarantee for its con- 
tinuance. The Duke of Wellington has gained laurels unstained by any useless flow of 
blood. He has done more than conquer others — he has conquered himself : and in the midst 
of the blaze and flush of victory, surrounded by the homage of nations, he has not been be- 
trayed into the commission of any act of cruelty or wanton offence. He was as cool and self- 
possessed under the blaze and dazzle of fame as a common man would be under the shade 
of his garden-tree, or by the hearth of his home. But the tyrant who kept Europe in awe 
is now. a pitiable object for scorn to point the finger of derision at: and humanity shudders 
as it remembers the scourge with which this maiVs ambition was permitted to devastate 
every home tie, and every heartfelt joy.” 

And now, after this sublime passidge, as full of awfle reflec- , 
tions and pious sentyments as those of Mrs. Cole in the play, I 
shall only quot one little extrak more : — 

“ All goi., gloomily with the poor princess.' Lady Charlotte Campbell told me she 
regrets not seeing all these curious person^es ; but she says, the more the princess is 
foresaken, the more happy she is at having offered to attend her at this time. T/tis is very 
amiable in her, and cannot fail to be gratifying to the princess.” 

So it is — very amiable, very kind and considerate in her, 
indeed. Poor Princess ! how lucky you was to find a frend 
who loved you for your own sake, and when all the rest of the 
wuld turned its back kep steady to you. As for believing that 
Lady Sharlot had any hand in this book,* heaven forbid ! she 
is all gratitude, pure gratitude, depend upon it. She would 
not go for to blacken her old frend and patron’s carrickter, 
after haying been so outrageously faithful to her ; she wouldn’t 
do it, at no price, depend upon it. How sorry she must be that 
others an’t quite so squemish, and show up in this indesent way 
the follies of her kind, genrus, foolish bennyfactris ! 

♦The “ authorized” announcement, in the John Bull newspaper, sets this question at 
rest. It is declared that her ladyship is not the writer of the Dairy. — O. Y. 


EPISTLES TO THE LITER ATI. 


519 


EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI. 

CH-S Y-LL-WPL-SH, ESQ., TO SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, BT. 

JOHN THOMAS SMITH, ESQ., TO C — S Y — H, ESQ. 

NOTUS. 

The suckmtansies of the following harticle are as folios 
Me and my friend, the sellabrated Mr. Smith, reckonized each 
other in the Haymarket Theatre, during the performints 'of the 
new play. I was settn in the gallery, and sung out to him (he 
was in the pit), to jine us after the play, over a glass of bear 
and a cold hoyster, in my pantry, the family being out. 

Smith came as appinted. We descorsed on the subjick of 
the comady ; and, after sefral glases, we each of us agreed to 
write a letter to the other, giving our notiums of the -pease. 
Paper was brought that momint ; and Smith writing his harticle 
across the knife-bord, I dasht off mine on the dresser. 

Our agreement was, that I (being remarkable for my style 
of riting) should cretasize the languidge, whilst he should take 
up with the plot of the play ; and the candied reader will pard- 
ing me for having holtered the original address of my letter, 
and directed it to Sir Edward himself ; and for having incop- 
perated Smith’s remarks in the midst of my own : — 


Mayfair, Nov. 30, 1839. Midnite. 

Honrabble Barnet! — Retired from the littery world a 
year or moar, I didn’t think anythink would injuce me to come 
forrards again ; for I was content with my share of reputation, 
and propoas’d to add nothink to those immortial wux which 
have rendered this Magaseen so sallybrated. 

Shall I tell you the reazn of my reappearants } — a desire 
for the benefick of my fellow-creatures } Fiddlestick i ■ A 
mighty truth with which my busm labored, and which I must 
bring forth or die ? Nonsince — stuff : money’s the secret, my 
dear Barnet, — money — Vargong, gelt, spicunia. Here’s quarter- 
day coming, and I’m blest if I can pay my landlud, unless I 
can ad hartiiicially to my inkum. 

This is, however, betwigst you and me. There’s no need to 
blacard the streets with it, or to tell the British public that 


520 '^HE memoirs of MR. C.J. VELLOWPLUSH. 

Fitzroy Y-ll-wpl-sh is short of money, or that the sallybrated 

hauthor of the Y Papers is in peskewniary difficklties, of 

is fiteagiied by his superhuman littery labors, or by his famly 
suckmstansies, or by any. other pusnal matter : my maxim, dear 
B, is on these pints to be. as quiet as posbile. What the juice 
does the public care for you or me ? Wh)rmust we always, in 
prefizzes and what not, be a-talking about ourselves and our 
igstrodnary merrats, woas, and injaries ? It is on this subjick 
that I porpies, my dear Barnet, to speak to you in a frendly 
way ; and praps you’ll find my advise tolrabbly holesum. 

Well, then, — if you care about the apinions, fur good or 
evil, of us poor suvvants, I tell you, in the most candied way, I 
like you, Barnet. I’ve had my fling at you in my day (for, 
entry 7iou., that last stoary I roat about you and Larnder was as 
big a bownsir as ever was)— I’ve had my fling at you ; but I 
like you. One may objeck to an immence deal of your writ- 
ings, which, betwigst you and me, contain more sham scenti- 
ment, sham morallaty, sham poatry, than you’d like to own ; 
but, in spite of this, there’s the stuff in you : you’ve a kind and 
loyal heart in you, Barnet — 4 trifle deboshed, perhaps ; a kean 
i, igspecially for what’s comic (as for your tradgady, it’s mighty 
flatchulent), and a ready plesnt pen. The man who says you 
are an As is an As himself. Don’t believe him, Barnet ! not 
that I suppose you wil, — for, if I’ve formed a correck apinion 
of you from your wucks, you think your small-beear as good as 
most men’s : every man does, — and why not } We brew, and 
we love our own tap — amen ; but the pint betwigst us, is this 
stewpid, absudd way of crying out, because the public don’t 
like it too. Why shood they, my dear Barnet ? You may vow 
that they are fools ; or that the critix are your enemies ; or that 
the wuld should judge your poams by your critticle rules, and 
not their own : you may beat your breast, and vow you are a 
marter, and you won’t mend the matter. Take heart, man ! 
you’re not so misrabble after all : your spirits need not be so 
very cast down ; you are not so very badly paid. I’d lay a 
wager that you make, with one thing or another — plays, noyvles, 
pamphlicks, and little odd jobbs here and there — your three 
thowsnd a year. There’s many a man, dear Bullwig, that works 
for less, and lives content. Why shouldn’t you ? Three 
thowsnd a year is no such bad thing, — let alone the barnetcy : 
it must be a great comfort to have that bloody hand in your 
skitching. .r 

But don’t you sea, that in a wuld naturally envius, wickid, 
and fond of a joak, this very barnetcy, these very cumplaints, 


EPISTLES TO THE LI TER A TL 


S2I 

—this ceaseless groning, and moning, and wining of yours, is 
igsaclcly the thing which makes people laff and snear more ? 
If you were ever at a great school, you must recklect who was 
the boy most bullid, and buffitid, and purshewd — he who minded 
it most. He who could take a basting got but few ; he who 
rord and wep because the knotty boys called him nicknames, 
was nicknamed wuss and wuss. I recklet there was at our 
school, in Smithfield, a chap of this milksop, spoony sort, who 
appeared among the romping, ragged fellers in a fine flanning 
dressing-gownd, that his mama had given him. That pore boy 
was beaten in a way that his dear ma and aunts didn’t know 
him j his fine flanning dressing-gownd was tom all to ribbings, 
and he got no pease in the school ever after, but was abliged 
to be taken to some other saminary, where, I make no doubt, 
he was paid off igsactly in the same way. 

Do you take the halligory, my dear Barnet.? Mutayto 
nominy — ^you know what I mean. You are the boy, and your 
barnetcy is the dressing-gownd. You dress yourself out finer 
than other chaps and they all begin to sault and hustle you ; 
it’s human nature, Barnet. You show weakness, think of your 
dear ma, mayhap, and begin to cry : it’s all over with you ; the 
whole school is at you — upper boys and under, big and little ; 
the dirtiest little fag in the place will pipe out blaggerd names 
at you, and take his pewny tug at your tail. 

The only way to avoid such consperracies is to put a pair of 
stowt shoalders forrards, and bust through the crowd of raggy- 
muffins. A good bold fellow dubls his fistt, and cries, “ Wha 
dares meddle wi’ me .? ” When Scott got his barnetcy, for 
instans, did any one of us cry out ? No, by the laws, he was 
our master ; and wo betide the chap that said neigh to him I 
But there’s barnets and barnets. Do you recklect that fine 
chapter in “ Squintin Durward,” about the too fellos and cups, 
at the siege of the bishop’s castle .? One of them was a brave 
warrier, and kep his cup ; they strangled the other chap — 
strangled him, and laffed at him too. 

With respeck, then, to the barnetcy pint, this is my advice : 
brazen it out. Us littery men I take to be like a pack of 
schoolboys — childish, greedy, envius, holding by our friends, 
and always ready to fight. - What must be a man’s conduck 
among such ? He must either take no notis, and pass on my- 
jastick, or else turn round and pummle soundly — one, two, 
right and left, ding dong over the face and eyes; above all, 
never acknowledge that he is hurt. Years ago, for instans 
(we’ve no ill-blood, but only mention this by way of igsample), 


522 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 

you began a sparring with this Magaseen. Law bless you, such 
a riclicklus gaym I never see : a man so belaybord, beliustered, 
bewolloped, was never known ; it was the laff of the whole 
town. Your intelackshsl natur, respected Barnet, is not fiz- 
zickly adapted, so to speak, for encounters of this sort. You 
must not indulge in combats with us course bullies of the 
press : you have not the staminy for a reglar set-to. What, 
then, is your plan ? In the midst of the mob to pass as quiet 
as you can : you won’t be undistubbed. Who is ? Some stray 
kix and bufftts will fall to you — mortial man is subjick to such ; 
but if you begin to wins and cry out, and set up for a marter, 
wo betide you ! 

These remarks, pusnal as I confess them to be, are yet, I 
assure you, written in perfick good-natur, and have been 
inspired by your play of the “ Sea Capting,” and prefiz to it ; 
which latter is on matters intirely pusnal, and will, therefore, I 
trust, igscuse this kind of ad /i077iina77i (as they say) diskcushion. 
I propose, honrabble Barnit, to comsider calmly this play and 
prephiz, and to speak of both with that honisty which, in the 
pantry or studdy, Tve been always phamous for. Let us, in 
the first place, listen to the opening of the “ Preface of the 
Fourth Edition : ” 


“ No one can be more sensible than I am of the many faults and deficiencies to be found 
In this play : but, perhaps, when it is considered how very rarely it has happened in the his- 
toiw of our dramatic literature that good acting plays have been produced, except by those 
who have either been actors themselves, or formed their habits of literature, almost of life, 
behind tlie scenes, I might have looked for a criticism more generous, and less exacting and 
rigorous, than that by which the attempts of an author accustomed to another class of com- 
position have been received by a large proportion of the periodical press. 

“ It is scarcely possible, indeed, that this play should not contain faults of two kinds : 
first, the faults of one who has necessarily much to learn in the mechanism of his art : and, 
secondly, of one who, having written largely in the narrative style of fiction, may not un- 
frequently mistake the effects of a novel for the effects of a drama. I may add to these, 
perhaps, the deficiencies that arise from uncertain health and broken spirits, which render 
the author more susceptible than he might have been some years since to that spirit of de- 
preciation and hostility which it has been his misfortune to excite amongst the general con- 
tributors to the periodical press ; for the consciousness that every endeavor will be made to 
cavil, to distort, to misrepresent, and, in fine, if possible, to run lown, will occasionally 
haunt even the hours of composition, to check the inspiration, and damp the ardor. 

“ Having confessed thus much frankly and fairlyj and with a hope that I may ultimately 
do better, should I continue to write for the stage (with nothing but an assurance that, with 
all my defects, I may yet bring some little aid to the drama, at a time when my aid, how- 
ever humble, ought to be welcome to the lovers of the art, could induce me to do), may I be 
permitted to say a few words as to some of the objections which have been made against this 
play ? ” 

Now, my dear sir, look what a pretty number of please you 
put forrards here, why your play shouldn’t be good. 

First. Good plays are almost always written by actors 
Secknd. You are a novice to the style of composition. 
Third. You TTiay be mistaken in your effects, being a 
novelist by trade, and not a play- writer. 


EPISTLES TO THE LITER A TL 


523 


Fourthly. Your in such bad helth and spj^rits. 

Fifthly. Your so afraid of the critix, that they damp your 
arder. 

For shame, for shame, man ! What confeshns is these, — 
vvhat painful pewling and piping ! Your not a babby. I take 
you to be some seven or eight and thutty years old — “in the 
morning of youth,” as the flosofer says. Don’t let any such 
nonsince take your reazn prisoner. What you, an old hand 
amongst us, — an old soljer of our sovring quean the press, — 
you, who have had the best pay, have held the topmost rank 
(ay, and deserved them too ! — I gif you lef to quot me in sasiaty, 
and say, “ I am a man of genius : Ylll-wpl-sh says so ”), — you 
to lose heart, and cry pickavy, and begin to howl, because little 
boys fling stones at you ! Fie, man ! take courage ; and, bear- 
ng the terrows of youi blood-red hand, as the poet says, punish 
as, if we’ve ofended you : punish us like a man, or bear your 
own punishment like a man. Don’t try to come off with such 
misrabble lodgic as that above. 

What do you.^ You give four satisfackary reazns that the 
play is bad (the secknd is naught, — for your no such chicking 
at play-writing, this being the forth). You show that the play 
must be bad, and then begin to deal with the critix for finding 
folt ! . 

Was there ever wuss generalship ? The play is bad, — your 
right, — a wuss I never see or read. But why kneed you say 
so t If it was so very bad, why publish it ? Because you wish 
to serve the drama I O fie ! don’t lay that flattering function to 
your sole, as Milton observes. Do you believe that this “ Sea 
Capting ” can serve the drama ? Did you never intend that it 
should serve anything, or anybody else ? Of cors you did ! 
You wrote it for money, — money from the maniger, money 
from the bookseller, — for the same reason that 1 write this. 
Sir, Shakspeare wrote for the very same reasons, and I never 
heard that he bragged about serving the drama. Away with 
thi^ canting about great motifs ! Let us not be too prowd, my 
dear Barnet, and fansy ourselves marters of the truth, marters 
or apostels. We are but tradesmen, working for bread, and 
not for righteousness’ sake. Let’s try and work honestly ; but 
don’t let us be prayting pompisly about our “ sacred calling.” 
The taylor who makes your coats (and very well they are made 
too, with the best of velvit collars) — I say Stulze, or Nugee, 
might cry out that their motifs were but to - assert the eturnle 
truth of tayloring, with just as much reazn ; and who would 
believe them 'i 


524 


THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH 


Well ; after acknollitchmin-t that the play is bad, come 
sefral pages of attack on the critix, and the folt those gentry 
have found with it. With these I shan’t middle for the presnt. 
You defend all the characters i by i, and conclude your 
remarks as follows : — 


“ I must be pardoned for this disquisition on my own designs. When every means is 
employed to misrepresent, it becomes, perhaps, allowable to explain. And if I do not think 
that my faults as a dramatic author are to be found in the study and delineation of character, 
it is precisely because iJiat is the point on which all my previous pursuits in literature and 
actual life would be most likelv to preserve me from the errors I own elsewhere, whether of 
misjudgment or inexperience. 

“ I have now only to add my thanks to the actors for the zeal and talent with which they 
have embodied the characters entrusted to them. The sweetness and grace with which 
Miss Faucit embellished the part of Violet, which, though only a sketch, is most necessary 
to the coloring and harmony of the play, were perhaps the more pleasing to the audience 
from the generosity, rare w'ith actors, which induced her to take a part so far inferior to her 
powers. The applause which attends the performance of Mrs. Warner and Mr. Strickland 
attests their success in characters of unusual difficulty ; while the singular beauty and noble- 
ness, whether of conception or execution, with which the greatest of living actors has 
elevated the part of Norman (so totally different from this ordinary range of character), is a 
new proof of his versatility and accomplishment in all that belongs to his art. It would be 
scarcely gracious to conclude these remarks without expressing my acknowledgment of that 
generous and indulgent sense of justice w’hich, forgetting all political difference in a literary 
arena, has enabled me to appeal to approving audiences — from hostile critics. And it is this 
which alone encourages me to hope that, sooner or later, I may add to the dramatic litera- 
ture of my country something that may find, perhaps,, almost as many friends in the next 
age as it has been the fate of the author to find enemies in this.” 

See, now. what a good comfrabble'vanaty is ! Pepple have 
quarld with the dramatic characters of your play. “ No,” says 
you ; “ if I am remarkabble for anythink, it’s for my study and 
delineation of character ; that is presizely the pint to which my 
littery purshuits have led me.” Have you read “ Jil Blaw,” my 
dear sir ? Have you pirouzed that exlent tragady, the ‘‘ Critic ? ” 
There’s something so like this in Sir Fretful Plaguy, and the 
Archbishop of Granadiers, that I’m blest if I can’t laff till my 
sides ake. Think of the critix fixing on the very pint for which 
you are famus ! — the roags ! And spose they had said the plot 
was absudd, or the langwitch absudder still, don’t you think 
you would have had a word in defens of them too — you who 
hope to find frends for your dramatic wux in the nex age ? 
Poo ! I tell thee, Barnet, that the nex age will be wiser and 
better than this ; and do you think that it will imply itsel! a 
reading of your trajadies ? This is misantrofy, Barnet — reglar 
Byronisrn ; and you ot to have a better apinian of human 
natur. 

Your apinion about the actors I sha’n’t here meddle with. 
They all acted exlently as far as my humbile judgement goes, 
and your write in giving them all possible prays. But let’s 
consider the last sentence of the prefiz, my dear Barnet, and 
see what a pretty set of apiniuns you lay down. 


EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI. 


525 


1. The critix are your inymies in this age. 

2. In the nex, however, you hope to find newmrous frends. 

3. And it’s a satisfackshn to think that, in spite of politticle 
diffrances, you have found frendly aujences here. 

Now, my dear Barnet, for a man who begins so humbly 
with what my friend Father Prout calls an argamantum ad mis e- 
ricorjam^ who ignowledges that his play is bad, that his pore 
dear helth is bad, and those cussid critix have played the juice 
with him — I say, for a man who beginns in such a humbill 
toan, it’s rayther rich to see how you end. 

My dear Barnet, do you suppose that politticle diffrances pre- 
judice pepple against you I What are your politix ? Wig, I 
presume — so are mine, ontry noo. And what if they are Wig, 
or Raddiccle, or Cumsuvvative ? Does any mortial man in 
England care a phig for your politix ? Do you think yourself 
such a mity man in parlymint, that critix are to be angry with 
you, and aujences to be cumsidered magnanamous because 
they treat you fairly ? There, now, was Sherridn, he who roat 
the “ Rifles ” and “ School for Scandle ” (I saw the “ Rifles ” 
after your play, and, O Barnet, if you knew what a relief it was !) 
— there, I say, was Sherridn — ^he was a politticle character, if 
you please: — he could make a spitch or two — do you spose that 
Pitt, Purseyvall, Castlerag, old George the Third himself, 
wooden go to see the “ Rivles ” — ay, and clap hands too, and 
laff and ror, for all Sherrj^’s Wiggery ? Do you spose the critix 
wouldn’t applaud too ? For shaftne, Barnet ! what ninnis, what 
hartless raskles, you must beleave them to be, — in the fust 
plase, to fancy that you are a politticle genus ; in the secknd, 
to let your politix interfear with their notiums about littery 
merits ! 

“ Put that nonsince out of your head,” as Fox said to Bony- 
part. Wasn’t it that great genus, Dennis, that wrote in Swiff 
and Poop’s time, who fansid that the French king wooden 
make pease unless Dennis was delivered up to him ? Upon my 
wild, I doan’t think he carrid his diddlusion much further than 
a serting honrabble barnet of my aquentance. 

And then for the nex age. Respected sir, this is another 
diddlusion ; a gross misteak dn your part, or my name is not 
Y — sh. These plays immortial ! Ah, parrysampe., as the 
French say, tliis is too strong — the small-beer of the “ Sea 
Capting,” or of any suxessor of the “ Sea Capting,” to keep 
sweet for sentries and sentries ! Barnet, Barnet ! do you know 
the natur of bear ? Six weeks is not past, and here your last 
casque is sour — the public won’t even now drink it ; and I lay 

34 


526 THE ME MO IE S OF MR. C. J. YELLOVVPLUSH. 

a wager that, betwigst this day (the thuttieth November) and 
the end of the year, the barl will be off the stox altogether, 
never, never to return. 

IVe netted down a few f razes here and there, which you 
will da well do igsamin : — 

NORMAN. '' 

“ The eternal Flora 

Woos to her odorous haunts the western wind ; 

While circling round and upwards from the boughs, 

Golden with fruits that lure the joyous birds, 

Melody, like a happy soul released, 

Hangs in the air, and from invisible plumes 
Shakes sweetness down ! ” • 

NORMAN 

“ And these the lips 

Where, till this hour, the sad, and holy kiss 
Of parting linger’d, as the fragrance left 
By angels when they touch the earth and vanish.’* 

NORMAN. 

Hark! she has blessed her son I I bid ye witness. 

Ye listening heavens — thou circumambient air : 

The ocean sighs it back — and with the murmur 
Rustle the happy leaves. All nature breathes 
Aloud — aloft — to the Great Parent’s ear 
The blessing of the mother on her child.” 

NORMAN. 

“ I dream of love, enduring faith, a heart 
Mingled with mine — a deathless heritage. 

Which I can take unsullied to the stars, 

When the Great Father calls his children home.” 

tir 

NORMAN. 

** The blue air, breathless in the starry peace. 

After long silence hushed as heaven, but filled 
With happy thoughts as heaven with angelsP 

NORMAN. 

** Till one calm night, when over earth and wave 
Heaven looked its love from all its numberless starsP 

NORMAN. 

Those eyes, the guiding stars by which I steered.’* 

NORMAN. 

' “ That great mother 

(The only parent I have known), whose face 
Is bright with gazing ever on the stars — 

The mother^ea.” 

NORMAN. 

“ My bark shall be onr home J , 

The j/arj that light the angel palaces ‘ 

Of air, our lamps.” 

NORMAN. 

•* A name that glitters, like a star, amidst 
The galaxy 01 England’s loftiest bom.” 


EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI 


527 

LADY ARUNDEL. 

“ And see him princeliest of the lion tribe, 

Whose swords and Coronals gleam around the throne, 

The guardian stars of the imperial isle.” 

The fust spissymen has been going the round of all the 
papers, as realj reglar poatry. Those wickid critix ! they must 
have been laffing in their sleafs when they quoted it. Malody, 
suckling round and uppards from the bows, like a happy soul 
released, hangs in the air, and from invizable plumes shakes 
sweetness down. Mighty fine, truly ! but let mortial man tell 
the meanink of the passidge. Is it musickle sweetniss that 
Malody shakes down from its plumes — its wings, that is, or 
tail — or some pekewliar scent that proceeds from happy souls 
released, and which they shake down from the trees when they 
are suckling round and uppards 1 Is this poatr}'-, Barnet ? 
Lay your hand on your busm, and speak out boldly: Is it 
poatry, or sheer windy humbugg, that sounds a little melojous, 
and won’t bear the commanest test of comman sence ? 

In passidge number 2, the same bisniss is going on, though 
in a more comprehensable way : the air, the leaves, the otion, 
are fild with emocean at Capting Norman’s happiness. Pore 
Nature is dragged in to partisapate in his joys, just as she has 
been befor. Once in a poem, this universle simfithy is very 
well ; but once is enuff, my dear Barnet : and that once should 
be in some great suckmstans, surely, — such as the meeting of 
Adam and Eve, in “ Paradice Lost,” or Jewpeter and Jewno, 
in Hoamer, where there seems, as it were, a reasn for it. 
But sea-captings should not be eternly spowting and invoking 
gods, hevns, starrs, angels, and other silestial influences. We 
can all do it, Barnet ; nothing in life is easier. I can compare 
ray livry buttons to the stars, or the clouds of my backopipe to 
the dark vollums that ishew from Mount Hetna ; or I can say 
that angels are looking down from them, and the tobacco silf, 
like a happy sole released, is circling round and upwards, and 
shaking sweetness dowm. All this is as esy as drink ; but it’s 
not poatry, Barnet, nor natural. People, when their mothers 
reckonize them, don’t howl about the suckumambient air, and 
paws to think of the happy leaves a-rustling — at least, one mis- 
trusts them if they do. Take another instans out of your own 
play. Capting Norman fwith his eternll slack-jaw I) meets the 
gal of his art : — 


Look up, look up, my Violet —weeping ? fic ! 
And trembling too — yet leaning on my breast. 
In truth, thou art too soft for such rude shelter- 


528 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWFLUSH. 

Look up 1 I come to woo thee to the seas, 

My sailor’s bride ! Hast thou no voice but blushes ? 

Nay — From those roses let me, like the bee, 

Drag forth the secret sweetness 1 ” 

VIOLET. 

Oh what thoughts 

Were kept for speech when we once more should meet. 

Now blotted from the page ; and all I feel 
Is — thou art with me 

Very right, Miss Violet — the scentiment is natral, affeck- 
shnit, pleasing, simple (it might have been in more grammaticle 
languidge, and no harm done) ; but never mind, the feeling is 
pritty ; and I can fancy, my dear Barnet, a pritty, smiling, 
weeping lass, looking* up in a man’s face and saying it. But 
the capting ! — oh, this capting ! — this windy, spouting captain, 
with his prittinesses, and conseated apollogies for the hardness 
of his busm, and his old, stale, vapid sirnalies, and his wishes 
to be a bee ! Pish! Men don’t make loye in this finniking 
way. It’s the part of a sentymentle, poeticle taylor, not a gal- 
liant gentleman, in command of one of her Madjisty’s vessels 
of war. 

Look at the remaining extrac, honored Barnet, and acknol- 
lidge that Captain Norman is eturnly repeating himself, with 
his endless jabber about stars and angels. Look at the neat 
grammaticle twist of Lady Arundel’s spitch, too, who, in the 
corse of three lines, has made her son a prince, a lion, with a 
sword and coronal, and a star. Why jumble and sheak up 
metafors in this way t Barnet, one simily is quite enuff in the 
best of sentenses (and I preshume I kneedn’t tell you that it’s 
as well to have it like., when you are about it). Take my 
advise, honrabble sir — listen to a humble footmin ; it’s genrally 
best in poatry to understand puffickly what you mean yourself, 
and to ingspress your meaning clearly afterwoods — in the 
simpler words the better, praps. You may, for instans, call a 
coronet a coronal if you like, as you might call a hat a “ swart 
sombrero,” “ a glossy four-and-nine,” “ a silken helm, to storm 
impermeable, and lightsome as the breezy gossamer ; ” but, in 
the long run, it as well to call it a hat. It is a hat : ancCthat 
name is quite as poetticle as another. I think it’s Playto, or 
els Plarrystottle, who observes that what we call a rose by any 
other name would smell as sweet. Confess, now, dear Barnet, 
don’t you long to call it a Polyanthus ? 

I never see a play more carelessly written. In such a hurry 
you seem to have bean, that you have actially in some sentences 
forgot to put in the sence. What is this, for instance ? — 


EPISTLES TO THE LITER A TI 


529 


“ This thrice precious one 
Smiled to my eyes — drew being from my breast— 

Slept in my arms ; — the very tears I shed 
Above my treasures were to men and angels. 

Alike such holy sweetness! ” 

In the name of all the angels that ever you invoked — 
Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, Zadkiel, Azrael — what does this “holy 
sweetness ” mean ? We’re not spinxes to read such durk conan- 
drums. If you knew my state sins I came upon this passidg — 
I’ve neither slep nor eton ; I’ve neglected my pantry ; I’ve 
been wandring from house to house with this riddl in my hand, 
and nobody can understand it. All Mr. Frazier’s men are 
wild, looking gloomy at one another, and asking what this may 
be. All the cumtributors have been spoak to. The Doctor, 
who knows every languitch, has tried and giv’n up ; we’ve sent 
to Doctor Pettigruel, who reads horyglifics a deal ezier than 
my way of spellin’— no anser. Quick ! quick with a fifth edi- 
tion, honored Barnet, and set us at rest ! While your about it, 
ple'ase, too, to igsplain the two last lines : — 

“ His merry bark with England’s flag to crown her.” 

See what dellexy of igspreshn, “ a flag to crown her ! ” 

'' His merry bark with Ei^gland’s flag tc crown her. 

Fame for my hopes, and woman in my cares.” 

Likewise the following : — 

“Girl, beware, 

The love that trifles round the charms it gilds 
Oft ruins while it shines.” 


Igsplane this, men and angels ! I’ve tried everyway ; back* 
ards, forards, and in all sorts of trancepositions, as thus : — 


Or, 

Or, 

Or, 

Or, 


The love that ruins round the charms it shines. 
Gilds while it trifles oft ; 

The charm that gilds around the love it ruins, 

Oft trifles while it shines ; 

The ruins that love gilds and shines around, 

Oft trifles where it charms ; 

Love, while it charms, shines round, and ruins oft, 
The trifles that it gilds ; 

• 

The love that trifles, gilds ?md ruins eft, 

While round the charms it 


All which are as sensable the fust passidge. 

And with this Pfl allow my friend Smith, who has been 
silent all this time, to say a few. words. He has not written 
near so mueh as me (being an jnfearor genus, betwigst our- 


g3o MEMOIRS OF MR. C. /. YELLOIVFLUSI/. 

selves), but he says he never had such mortial difficulty with 
anything as with the dixcripshn of the plott of your pease. Here 
his letter : — 

To Ch-rl-s F-tzr-y Pl-nt-g-n-t Y-ll-wpl-sh, Esq., &c., &c. 

30/// Nbv.y 1839. 

My dear and honored Sir, — I have the pleasure of lay- 
ing before you the following description of the plot, and a few 
remarks upon the style of the piece called “ The Sea Captain.” 

Five-and-twenty years back, a certain Lord Arundel had a 
daughter, heiress of his' estates and property; a poor cousin. 
Sir Maurice Beevor (being next in succession) ; and a page, 
Arthur Le Mesnil by name. 

The daughter took a fancy for the page, and the young per- 
sons were married unknown to his lordship. 

Three days before her confinement (thinking, no doubt, that 
period favorable for travelling), the young couple had agreed 
to run away together, and had reached a chapel near on the 
sea-coast, from which they were to embark, when Lord Arundel 
abruptly put a stop to their proceedings by causing one Gaussen, 
a pirate, to murder the page. 

His daughter was carried back to Arundel House, and, in 
three days gave birth to a son. Whether his lordship knew of 
this birth I cannot say ; the infant, however, was never ac- 
knowledged, but carried by Sir Maurice Beevor to a priest, 
Onslow by name, who educated the lad and kept him for 
tw^elve years in profound ignorance of his birth. The boy went 
by the name of Norman. 

Lady Arundel meanwhile married again, again became a 
widow, but had a second son, who was the acknowledged heir, 
and called Lord Ashdale. Old Lord Arundel died, and her 
ladyship became countess in her own right. 

When Norman was about twelve years of age, his mother, 
who wished to “ waft young Arthur to a distant land,” had him 
sent on board ship. Who should the captain of the ship be 
but Gaussen, who received a smart bribe from Sir Maurice 
Beevor to kill the lad. Accordingly, Gaussen tied him to a 

plank, and pitched him Qverboard. 

* * * * :)(= 

About thirteen years after these circumstances, Violet, an 
orphan niece of Lady Arundel’s second husband, came to pass 
a few weeks with her ladyship. She had just come from a sea 
voyage, and had been saved from a wicked Algerine by an Eng- 
lish sea captain. This sea captain was no other than Norman, 


EPISTLES TO THE LITER A TL 


531 

who had been picked up off his plank, and fell in love with, 
and was loved by, Miss Violet. 

A short time after Violet’s arrival at her aunt’s the captain 
came to pay her a visit, his ship anchoring off the coast, near 
Lady Arundel’s residence. By a singular coincidence, that 
rogue Gaussen’s ship anchored in the harbor too. Gaussen at 
once knew his man, for he had “ tracked ” him (after drowning 
him), and he informed Sir Maurice Beevor that young Norman 
was alive. 

Sir Maurice Beevor informed her ladyship. How should 
she get rid of him } In this wise. He was in love with Violet, 
let him marry her and be off ; for Lord Ashdale was in love 
with his cousin too ; and, of course, could not marry a young 
woman in her station of life. “You have a chaplain on board,” 
says her ladyship to Captain Norman ; “ let him attend to-night 
in the ruined chapel, marry Violet, and away with you to sea.” 
By this means she hoped to be quit of him for ever. 

But unfortunately the conversation had been overheard by 
Beevor, and reported to Ashdale. Ashdale determined to be 
at the chapel and carry off Violet ; as for Beevor, he sent 
Gaussen to the chapel to kill both Ashdale and Norman : thus 
there would only be Lady Arundel between him and the title. 

Norman, in the meanwhile, who had been walking near the 
chapel, had just seen his worthy old friend, the priest, most 
barbarously murdered there. Sir Maurice Beevor had set 
Gaussen upon him ; his reverence was coming with the papers 
concerning Norman’s birth, which Beevor wanted in order to 
extort money from the countess. Gaussen was, however, 
obliged to run before he got the papers ; and the clergyman 
had time, before he died, to tell Norman the story, and give 
him the documents, with which Norman sped off to the castle 
to have an interview with his mother. 

He lays his white cloak and hat on the table, and begs to 
be left alone with her ladyship. Lord Ashdale, who is in the 
room, surlily quits it ; but, going out, cunningly j^uts on Nor- 
man’s cloak. “ It will be dark,” says he, “ down at the chapel ; 
Violet won’t know me ; and, egad ! I’ll run off with her ! ” 

Norman has ,his interview. Her ladyship acknowledges 
him, for she cannot help it ; but will not embrace him, love 
him, or have anything to do with him. 

Away he goes to the chapel. His chaplain was there wait- 
ing to marry him to Violet, his boat was there to carry him on 
board his ship, and Violet was there, too. 

“ Norman,” says she, in the dark, “ dear Norman, I knew 


532 the memoirs of MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

you by your white cloak ; here I am.” And she and the man 
in a cloak go off to the inner chapel to be married. 

There waits Master Gaussen ; he has seized the chaplain 
and the boat’s crew, and is just about to murder the man in the 
cloak, when — 

Norman rushes in and cuts him down, much to the surprise 
of Miss, for she never suspected it was sly Ashdale who had 
come, as we have seen, disguised, and very nearly paid for his 
masquerading; 

Ashdale is very grateful ; but, when Norman persists in mar- 
rying Violet, he says — no, he sha’n’t. He shall fight ; he is a 
coward if he doesn’t fight. Norman flings doWn his sword, and 
says he wonl fight ; and — 

Lady ArunAel, who has been at prayers all this time, rush- 
ing in, says, Hold ! this is your brother, Percy — your elder 
brother! ” Here is some restiveness on Ashdale’s part, but he 
finishes by embracing his brother. 

Norman burns all the papers ; vows he will never peach ; 
reconciles himself with his mother ; says he will go loser ; but, 
having ordered his ship to “ veer ” round to the chapel, orders 
it to veer back again, for he will pass the honeymoon at Arun- 
del Castle. 

As you have been pleased to ask my opinion-, it strikes me 
that there are one or two very good notions in this plot. But 
the author does not fail, as he would modestly have us believe, 
from ignorance of stage-business ; he seems to know too much, 
rather than too little, about the stage ; to be too anxious to 
cram in effects, incidents, perplexities. There is the perplexity 
concerning Ashdale’s murder, and Norman’s murder, and the 
priest’s murder, and the page’s murder, and Gaussen’s murder. 
There is the perplexity about the papers, and that about the 
hat and cloak (a silly, foolish obstacle), which only tantalize 
the spectator, and retard the march of the drama’s action : it 
is as if the author had said, “I must have a new incident in 
every act, I must keep tickling the spectator perpetually, and 
never let him off until the fall of the curtain.” 

The same disagreeable bustle and petty complication of in- 
trigue you may remark in the author’s drama of “ Richelieu.’! 
“ The Lady of Lyons” was a much simpler and better wrought 
plot ; the incidents following each other either not too swiftly 
or startlingly. In Richelieu,” it always seemed to me as if one 
heard doors perpetually clapping and banging ; one was puzzled 
to follow the train of conversation, in the midst of the pejpetua) 
small noises that distracted one right and left.. 


EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI 


533 


Nor is the list of characters of The Sea Captain ” to be 
despised. The outlines of all of them are good. A mother, 
for whom one feels a proper tragic mixture of hatred and pity ; 
a gallant single-hearted son, whom she disdains, and who con- 
quers her at last by his noble conduct ; a dashing haughty 
Tybalt of a brother ; a wicked poor cousin, a pretty maid, and 
a fierce buccaneer. These people might pass three hours very 
well on the stage, and interest the audience hugely ; but the 
author fails in filling up the outlines. His language is absurdly 
stilted, frequently careless \ the reader or spectator hears a 
number of loud speeches, but scarce a dozen lines that seem 
to belong of nature to the speaker. 

Nothing can be more fulsome or loathsome to my mind than 
the continual sham-religious clap-traps which the author has put 
into the mouth of his hero ; nothing more unsailor-like than his 
namby-pamby starlit descriptions, which my ingenious colleague 
has, I see, alluded to. “ Thy faith my anchor, and thine eyes 
my haven,” cries the gallant captain to his lady. See how 
loosely the sentence , is constructed, like a thousand others in 
the book. The captain is to cast anchor with the girl’s faith in 
her own eyes ; either image might pass by itself, but together, 
like the quadrupeds of Kilkenny, they devour each other. The 
captain tells his lieutenant to bid his bark veer round to a point 
in the harbor. Was ever such language ? My lady gives Sir 
Maurice a thousand pounds to waft him (her son) to some dis- 
tant shore. Nonsense, sheer nonsense; and what is worse, 
affected nonsense ! 

Look at the comedy of the poor cousin. There is a great 
deal, of game on the estate — partridges, hares, wild-geese, snipes, 
and plovers {smacking his tifs) — besides a magnificent preserve 
of sparrows, which I can sell to the little blackguards in the 
streets at a penny a hundred. But I am very poor— a very 
poor old knight ! ” 

Is this wit or nature ? It is a kind of sham wit ; it reads as 
if it were wit, but it is not. What poor, poor stuff, about the 
little blackguard boys ! what flimsy ecstasies and silly smack- 
ing of lips ” about the plovers. Is this the man who writes for 
the next age ? O fie ! Here is another joke : — 

“ Sir Maurice. Mice ! 2 ounds, how can I 
Keep mice! I can’t afford it ! They were starved 
To death an age ago. The last was found 
Come Christmas three years, stretched beside a bone 
In that same larder, so consumed and wo^ 

By pioifs fast, ’twas awful to behold it 1 
I canonized its corpse in spirits of wine, 

And set it in the porch— a solemn warning 
To thieves and beggars I ” 


534 THE MEMOIRS OF MR. C. J. YELLOWPLUSH. 

Is not this rare wit ? “ Zounds, how can I keep mice ? ” is 

well enough for a miser ; not too new, or brilliant either ; but 
this miserable dilution of a thin joke, this wretched hunting 
down of the poor mouse ! It is humiliating to think of a man 
of esprit harping so long on such a mean, pitiful string. A man 
who aspires to immortality, too ! I doubt whether it is to be 
gained thus ; whether our author’s words are not too loosely 
built to make “ starry pointing pyramids of.” Horace clipped 
and squared his blocks more carefully before he laid the monu- 
ment which imber edax or aqtdla impotens^ or fuga temporiim 
might assail in vain. Even old Ovid, when he raised his stately, 
shining heathen temple, had placed some columns in it, and 
hewn out a statue or two which deserved the immortality that 
he prophesied (somewhat arrogantly) for himself. But let not 
all be looking forward to a future, and fancying that,'‘‘ incerti 
spatiunt dum Jifiiat cevip our books are to be immortal. Alas ! 
the way to immortality is not so easy, nor will our “ Sea Cap- 
tain ” be permitted such an unconscionable cruise. If all the 
immortalities were really to have their wish, what a work would 
our descendants have to study them all ! 

Not yet, in my humble opinion, has the honorable baronet 
achieved this deathless consummation. There will come a day 
(may it be long distant 1) when the very best of his novels will 
be forgotten ; and it is reasonable to suppose that his dramas 
will pass out of existence, some time or other, in the lapse of 
the secula seculorum. In the meantime, my dear Plush, if you 
ask me what the great obstacle is towards the dramatic fame 
and merit of our friend, I would say that it does not lie so 
much in hostile critics or feeble health, as in a careless habit 
of writing, and a peevish vanity which causes him to shut his 
eyes to his faults. The question of original capacity I will not 
moot; one may think very highly of the honorable baronet’s 
talent, without rating it quite so high as he seems disposed 
to do. 

And to conclude : as he has chosen to combat the critics 
in person, the critics are surely justified in being allowed to 
address him directly. 

With best compliments to Mrs. Yellowplush, 

I have the honor to be, dear Sir, 

Your most faithful and obliged 
humble servant, 

John Thomas Smith. 

And now, Smith having finisht his letter, I think I can’t do 


EPISTLE TO THE LITTER ATI. 


535 

better than clothes mine lickwise ; for though I should never be 
tired of talking, praps the public may of hearing, and therefore 
it’s best to shut up shopp. 

What I’ve said, respected Barnit, I hoap you woan’t take 
unkind. A play, you see, is public property for every one to 
say his say on ; and I think, if you read your prefez over agin, 
you’ll see that it ax as a direct incouridgment to us critix to 
come forrard and notice you. But don’t fansy, I besitch you, 
that we are actiated by hostillaty ; fust write a good play, and 
you’ll see we’ll prays it fast enuff. Waiting which, Agray, 
MuTiseer le Chenaleer^ Vashurance de ma hoi cumsideratun. 

Voter disiangy, 

Y. 


Yellowplush Papers. 


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K,H!OH13SrTXjY FXJBLiISIiEID. 

HEART AND SCIENCE. 

By WILKIE COLLINS. 


1 Vol., I2mo., cloth, gilt fl.OO 

. 1 “ “ paper • .50 

Also in Lovell’s Library, No. 87 20 


“ Bcnjulia” is a singularly interesting,' and, in a way, fascinating creation. 
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1 “ “ paper 50 

Also in Lovell’s Library, No. 112, 2 parts, each 15 


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“ ‘ Wanda ’ contains much that is striking. The central idea is finely 
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illustrated by F. Opper, of Puck. 

Truthful Talks in uncontrollable language — irresistibly funny. 

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“A more acceptable or timely work by a native manufacturer of 
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with portraits of notable humorists. 

Brief biographical sketches of American humorists, with extracts 
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SKETCHES, by R. W. Criswell, of the Cincmnati Enquirer, 
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A quaint literary creation. 

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originally contributed to Neal’s Saturday Gazette. 

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B£TT£R PAPER, 

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SEE IS SJi^XlD OE 107: 

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“Mercantile Library, } 
“Baltimore. August 29, 1883. f 
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find greatly preferable to the ‘ Seaside ’ and ‘ Franklin Square ’ Series, 
and even better than the 12mo. form of the latter, the page being of 
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Altogether your series is much more in favor with our subscribers than 
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“ S. C. DONALDSOR, Assistant LiBRARiAN.’f 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

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"^"""‘Tijbrary-catalogue. 


113. 

ih! 

115. 

s. 

116. 

117. 

118. 

119. 

120 . 
121 . 
122 . 
123! 

124. 


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by Rev. Jasj S. Bush 20 104. 

Monsieur Lecoq, Gaboriau Pt. I. .20 IG", 

tMonsieur Lecoq. Pt. It 20 100. 

An Outline oMrish Ilratory, by 

Justin H. McCarthy 10 1G,7. 

The Lero nge Ca«e, by Gaboriau. . 20 
Paul Clifford; by Lord Lytion. .20 1C8. 
A New Lease of Life, by About., 20 

Bourbon Lilies ■. 00 ICA 

Other People's ’'Toney j^Gflbqrtau.20 i ;0. 
The Lady of Lyons, Lyttpn,..10 171. 

Ameline deBoui^ LG 172. 

A Sea Queen, by W. Russell 20 173. 

The Ladies LindcTres, by JSirs. 174. 
t- Oliphant. '.SO 

125. Haunted Hearts, by Simpson'. ..10 175 

126. Lots, f ord Beresford, by The 176 

Duchess, 20 177, 

Under Two Flags, Ouida. Pt. I. . 1.5 1 . 8. 

Under Two Flags, Pt. II -..13 170. 

Money, by Ijora l..y tton 10 180. 

In Peril of His : ife, by Gaboriau,20 181. 

India, by Mrfx Muller,... 20 1.‘'2. 

Oets and Flashes. 20 is.3. 

Moonshine and Marguerites, by 184. 

The Duchess 10 

Mr Scarborough’s Family, by 185. 

Anthony Trollope. Part 1. ... .15 
Mr Scarboroueh s Family, Pt IT. 15 
Arden, by A. Mary F. Robinson. 15 
The O’ower of Percenwut.. ....20 1S6, 

Yolnnde, hy Wm. Biflck 20 

Cruel London , by Joseph fTatton.20 187. 
The Gilded Cl qne. by Gahori'.u.20 188. 
Pike (’ouuty F(»iks, E H. Jttott. .20 lb9. 

Cricket on the Hearth 10 

Ilenry Esmond, by 'J hackeray. .20 190. 
Strange Adventures of a Phae- 191. 

ton. by Wm. Black 192. 

Denis Duval, by Thackeray 10 193. 

Old Curiosity Shop,Dicken«.Pt 1.15 
Old Curiositj’ Shop, Part II.,. .15 194. 

145, Jvanhoe, by Scott, Part 1 1.5) 1&5. 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, Part 1 1 15 

148. White Wings, by W’^m, B’ack..20 19C. 

147. The Sketch Book, by Irving 20 ; 197. 

148. Catherine, by W M Thackeray. 10 . 

149. Janet’s L’epentance. by Eliot — 10 198. 

150. Barnaby Rudge. Dickens, Pt i . . 13 199. 

Barnai'v Rudge, Piirt ll 15 

1.51. Felix Ilolt, by George Eliot — 20 

152. Richelieu, by Lord L^ tton 10 

153. Sunrise, by Wm. Hluck, Parti.. 15 200. 
ISunrise byWm. black. Part II. 15 201. 

154. Tour of the World in 80 Days., 29 

155. Myoterv of Orc.ival Gaboriau.,.. 20 

156. Lovel, the Widower, by W. M. 202. 

Thackeray 10 r03. 

157. R-'man tic Adventures of * Milk- 204. 

maid, by Thomas Hardy 10 205. 

158. David Ccpperfield, Dickens.Pt 1.20 
David Cop 'Crfieid. Tart II. .... 20 206 

160. Rienzi, by Lorrt Lyttnn, Part. I., 15 2ll7. 
Rienzi, by Lord LyMon, Pa.rtjl.t5 

161. Promise of Marriage, Gaboriat! .. to 208. 

162. Fairh and Unfaittt, by The 

Duebeea........ .flC 


^ 127. 

128. 

129. 

130. 

131. 

132. 

{ 133 . 
i ^ 

I 134. 
I 135. 
1.36. 

137. 

138. 

139. 
J 1-^0. 
i 141. 
i 142. 

1 143. 
[ 144. 


The HapoT Man, by Lover... 10 
Barry Lyndon, by Thackeray.... ^0 

F.yre’s Acquittal 10 

Twenty Thuin'ar.d I.eagues Un- 
der the Sea, by Jules Verue 20 

Anti-Slavery Days, by James 

Freeman Ci.arkc*. .20 

Beauty's Daughters, by The 

Duchess. 20 

Bevond the Sunrise 29 

Hard Times, by Charles Dicken8.20 
Tom Cringle’s Log, by M. Scott. 
Vanity Fair, by W.M.Tbackeray.20 
Underground Russia, Stepniak..20 
Middleu.'iirch, by Elliot, Pt I. ...20 

Middlemarch, Part II 20 

fdrToiu, by Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Pelham, by Lord Lyttou.\ 20 

The Story of Ida 10 

Made p Violet, by Wm. Black.. 20 

The L'.tUe Pilgrim 10 

Kilmetiy, by Wm. Black.,..- 20 

■W'hist,or Bumbicpuppy?. 10 

The Beautitul Wretch, BIpek 20 

Her MolIi'.t’s Sin. by B. JI. CIay.20 
Green Pa-stures and Piccadilly, 

by Wm. Black 20 

The Myst rious Island, by Jules 

Verue. Part I, , 15 

The Mysterious I.-^land, Part IT. .15 
The Myrlerious I- land. Part 111.15 
Tom Brown at Oxford, Part I. . .15 
Tom Brown at Oxf''rd, Part II. .15 
Thickcr'tl.an WiK n , by J. Fayn.2> 
In Silk Attire, by Wnv BKack. ..20 
Scotti-h Chi:f .Jane I'orier,Pt.I.20 

Scoiti'h Chiefs, Part II 20 

Willy Reilly, by Will Carleton..£0 
9 he Naufz Family, by Sliellcy.20 
Great Expectation's, by Lickens.-.O 
Pendeni.is.by Thackeray, Part 1.20 
Pendennis, by Thackeray, Part 11.20 

Widow Bedott Papers 20 

Daniel Deronda.Geo. El.'Ot,Pt. 1.20 

Daniel Deronda, Part II 20 

Altiora Petp, by Oliphan: 20 

Bv the Gale of tne Sea, by David 

(.Tirfstie Murray ..,,.,..15 

Tales of a Traveller, by Irving. . .20 
Life ar.d Voyages of Columbus, 
by Washington Irving, Part I.. 20 
Liba and Voyaws of Columbus, 
by Washington Irving, Part 11.20 

The Pilgrim's Progres* 20 

Martin Chu/.zle\vit,*by Charles 

Dickens. Part I. . . _20 

Martin Chnzzlewit, Part II. 20 

Theophrastus Such. Geo. Eliot... 20 
Dis.irmed, M. Betham-Edward8..15 
Eugene Aram, by Lord Lyrfon.20 
The .Spanish Gypsy and 'Other 
P'ems, by George Eli«'t.. . ... .20 

Cast Up by the Sea. Baker 20 

Mill on the Floss, Eliot, Pt. I. ..15 

Mill on the Floi-s, Part it 15 

Brother Jacob, «ud Mr, Gilfll’i 
Love Ftorv , by George Eliot. . . 10 
L.f« .20 


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